DOROTHEA {fred weasley}

seventy five

The smoke hadn't just settled in the walls, it was in Fred's clothes, hair, under his fingernails even. They'd each slept on floors of their room, repairing what they could the night before. Some of the aurors had come to help too.

Every time Fred blinked, he could still see the scorched edges of the orchard. The embers had been put out, but something in him was still crackling.

He hadn't told George about Dorothea. Not really. He said he bumped into a death eater, and that was true. He kept his expression stern.

But he hadn't said who had stood among the flames. Hadn't said what she looked like, or even that she didn't raise her wand. That she watched him.

He couldn't stop seeing her face.

Bloodied. Bruised. One cheekbone blackened, the slash from Bellatrix across her face. The rest of her was completely still.

When dawn broke, he still hadn't slept.

George, fully dressed, lobbed a pillow at his head from across the room.

 "Get up, you useless sod."

Fred grunted and covered his eyes with his arm.

"We're going to Wales, remember? Vira has sent about a hundred letters already, word travels fast, I suppose."

Fred sat up slowly, joints aching like he was twice his age. "Elvira lives in the middle of nowhere. We need to help mum."

"Exactly, middle of nowhere is good, for a night," George said. "No war. No Death Eaters. Remus and Tonks are here to help mum. So are Bill and Fleur. We're going."

It was raining sideways when they arrived in Wales by portkey. The cottage was barely visible through the mist. It was a small, crooked structure clinging to the edge of a moor, like it had been grown rather than built.

Oliver opened the door with a grin and two steaming mugs, welcoming his friends inside with an apprehensive and worried look behind his smile.

"Rain's good for the soul," he said, ushering them in. "Elvira's been hexing the spoons again. Watch your tea."

Inside smelled of cinnamon, burnt herbs, and beeswax. Elvira appeared from the kitchen wearing a jumper that reached her knees and a scowl of concern that deepened when she saw Fred.

"You look like a drowned cat."

Fred cracked the first smile he had in days. "You always were good with compliments."

They sat in the garden under a conjured dome, the rain pattering softly overhead while a magical fire crackled between them. Elvira passed around bread still warm from the oven, and Oliver poured firewhisky into their tea like it was honey.

For a while, no one said anything. It was the closest Fred had felt to peace since... since before.

Then Elvira, gently: "Were you both at the Burrow, then? When it happened?"

Fred stared at the fire.

And then, quietly, without ceremony, ignoring the woman's question:
"She was there."

George froze. Elvira stiffened.

Fred didn't look up. "Dorothea. She was with them. No mask. Didn't attack. Just... stood there."

George let out a breath through his teeth. "You're kidding. Why didn't you tell me?"

Fred shook his head. "She looked at me. She knew I was there. She didn't even reach for her wand, nor I mine. I just froze."