Fred couldn't sit still. Not that that was an abnormal occurrence - Fred was usually tapping his fingers or rocking in his chair after half a minute of not being active, plotting some prank or coming up with his latest idea to enhance the business. But this was different.

The night seemed darker than usual. The cold was creeping in - Fred could feel it in his fingers. He felt more aware of everything than he ever had before - he wondered if this was in case it was the last time he would see them.

As in exactly an hour, he would need all his senses and wits about him, as he was to stand in front of the most powerful Dark Wizard of the age, Lord Voldemort. By midnight, Fred would be a Death Eater.

And he was terrified.

Fred Weasley, a Gryffindor, who had openly defied authority for as long as he could remember, who had flown away on his banned broom from their tyrannical toad of a teacher, who had stood in front of his mother when she was in a rage, the same Fred Weasley felt the terror invade his heart.

He couldn't help but wonder how it had gotten to this.

As he sat in the armchair, he could hear the sound of his foot tapping increasingly fast on the dark wooden floor echoing around the room. In an attempt to change the atmosphere, he waved his wand at the fireplace and cherished the brief feeling of heat that the flames brought; the crackling of the burning wood accompanying the sound of his foot tapping.

Fred remembered how he'd always begged to be allowed in the Order of the Phoenix meetings - now he was just about to join the Dark side. Fred remembered how he'd fought gallantly against the hooded horrors - now he was about to become one of them.

Everyone around him was being tortured or killed left and right - what choice did he have? Fred tried to reason with himself - but somehow he wasn't sure he could ever justify what he was about to do.

Just think about it as a top secret undercover Order mission, Fred told himself, his eyes never leaving the clock, which seemed to be ticking at an abnormally fast rate - how had the time gone so quickly? An extremely top secret Order mission - so top secret no one in the Order actually knows about it... Not even you. Fred knew he ought to stop thinking before he changed his mind, but somehow the thoughts were whirling around as fast as the second hand was speeding on the face of the clock on his wall. Just think about George - you're doing it for George.

Fred braved another glance at the clock, which showed him his worst fears - it was time to go.

The Dark Lord's eyes were merciless, Fred could see that at a glance. But he knew he couldn't question why he had come - if he did, he would be there no longer.

The journey in itself had been confusing - hurriedly following many masked figures, nearly being run over by the Knight Bus, jumping on trains last minute, and finally being tricked into taking a portkey by asking a man at the bus stop for the time.

And it all came down to this - an audience with the Dark Lord himself. Fred wasn't sure whether this was a good thing or a bad thing.

It seemed that Voldemort didn't care for introductions - but what was the need when you could find out everything yourself, just by looking into someone's eyes - and mind? Fred, who had been performing in front of an audience his whole life, and had always revelled in being the centre of attention, suddenly felt very overwhelmed as he stood locked in a staring contest with the darkest wizard of the age, encircled by all of his minions. Fred felt glad that only curses could kill, for if it was extended to looks as well, he would have dropped down upon his entrance.

He tried desperately to keep his gaze from wavering or tearing itself away whilst he felt his mind being penetrated and studied. Fred could vaguely hear Voldemort ask him a question out loud - but it seemed too far away in the distance for Fred to catch more than a few words. His brain felt as if it were going to burst with effort of making an answer whilst he knew that Voldemort was probing and delving deeper into his thoughts and memories.

"Y - yes," Fred coughed, feeling the physical pain of having to drag his brain back to the current scenario. He heard a chortle that seemed to pass round the circle of Death Eaters, and tried desperately to focus.

"Let us try again - what is your name?" The Dark Lord asked, sneering as Fred realised his answer held no relevance whatsoever to the question. That in itself must have surely proved his identity.

Fred felt himself plunged into his own memory as Voldemort examined his life, as if through a magnifying glass. He found flashbacks of himself and George switching one of his mother's Lockhart books for 'Dracula Bites Back'. He relived falling out of a tree just so he could be with his brother, who had fallen moments before. He suddenly found himself swirling around in a manner that could be called dancing at the Yule Ball, then swiftly switching partners with George in an ensemble number. The day flooded back into the forefront of his mind when he and George were counting up their earnings after their first month of opening the shop, and it being more than they could ever have imagined. It seemed as if a fog had exploded in his mind, random images coming into view, before swooping away into the background as other's came into his line of sight. It took all his self control not to be swept away with them.

"I'll ask you one more time - who are you?" The words echoed around in Fred's head as he brought himself haphazardly out of his subconscious to utter out the words that would seal his fate.

"George Weasley."

Fred wore the indifferent look he had perfected at school, but even he couldn't hide the trace of fear he felt as Voldemort - the Dark Lord, he had to remind himself - looked into his eyes. Fred tried not to let an audible gasp of relief fall out as it appeared Voldemort was satisfied with his memories, and turned to his hooded followers, and gave a curt nod.

But Fred tensed again, almost as quickly as he had relaxed, knowing what was coming next. Any moment then, his fate and future would be sealed with a large black tattoo. Fred rolled up his sleeve and summoned all his Gryffindor courage as he braced himself for the searing pain that would be burnt onto his arm along with the Dark Mark. Fred didn't have to wonder what would hurt more, the breaking of his heart from having to turn over to the Dark side, or the physical pain on his arm from the tattoo - he already knew from past experience just how much his heart could hurt.

Fred put on his most confident look as Voldemort approached, but the Dark Lord didn't make any attempt to perform the marking ritual, and instead turned his merciless gaze upon Fred once more, and asked a fatal question:

"What special knowledge or service do you hope to offer the Dark Lord for giving you the honour of being among his followers?"

Fred tried to disguise the shocked look that he knew would have made it's way across his face - of all things, he certainly hadn't expected that. He had found the first question hard - how on earth was he supposed to answer this one? The Dark Lord could easily find out the truth of any boastful claim that he made, and it seemed quite certain that an unsatisfactory answer would result in a grievous punishment, so he knew that he had to choose his answer carefully.

Or George's answer.

What could he say? His and George's expertise had always been making people laugh - and for some reason, he got the idea that the Death Eaters wouldn't be as appreciative as his old classmates. They knew how to plan things out, keep one step ahead of their prospective opposition, and if they did somehow get caught, talk their way out of it.

But how would any of that benefit the Death Eaters? And even if it did - did he want it to?

Finally, Fred decided on his answer.

"The knowledge I have is from everything I've ever done, ever seen, ever experienced. I don't know whether it will benefit you, all I know is that it has benefited me. The only service I have to offer you is myself - and that is everything and nothing. As to whether that will benefit you, that is what you have to decide."

Fred braved a look up, and was met with the Death Eater's gazes - some loathing, some nodding, but most shocked. As he steeled his eyes to look up into those of the Dark Lord's, he saw that his expression was unchanged - the only things moving were his lips as he said -

He said - what? Fred squinted, but it seemed that everything was going dizzy. No - I can't faint, not now! Fred thought, blinking rapidly, desperately trying to keep his focus. Besides, I've only ever fainted twice, when Bill sat on me and stopped my airwaves after me and George put Drooble's Best Blowing Gum in his hair when he was asleep, and then he had to have half of it cut off... Unintentionally Fred snickered at the memory of it, which seemed to work as his vision became clearer. Well, this certainly isn't like when I fainted after testing our Fainting Fancies, he decided, blinking again. You know, I don't think I fainted at all - this must be all part of some test...

However, as his vision cleared and he could detect where he was, Fred could safely say that it wasn't at the Death Eater meeting. In fact, it seemed to be a gloomy, empty room. It had a dark, eerie feeling to it, Fred decided, as he could smell the damp, and it seemed that smoke or fog of some sort was coming in from somewhere. Fred didn't have to ponder for long, as the black smoke wove it's way into the air above him, eventually shaping out into letters which became words, all dripping with the sinister black smoke.

You excel in pranks and tricks,
But this time it is no joke.
Read me with utmost care,
Consider if this black smoke
Turns out to be a sign
Of what your life becomes,
If it exists further than this at all
For fail at this and your life will be done.
Your task is thus:
When faced with only your wits and heart,
How far will you go to join our cause?
Or will you give into temptation?
Bring to us what we want,
Keep your eye on the prize,
But above all,
Make sure your choice is wise.

Fred blinked, wondering if he actually had fainted, and this was all some part of a crazy dream. Nightmare more like, Fred thought wryly as he reread the black smoke that was already starting to waft away. As the smoke slowly began to evaporate, it seemed that the room did as well, as all that remained was the ground Fred stood on as the remaining smoke clouded his vision once more. Fred angrily tried to wave it away, and when that failed he strode out of it - well, he thought it must be out of it, although the black smoke was smothering him too much for him to be completely sure.

However, after a few paces, the smoke seemed to evaporate completely, and Fred found himself in a dark street. All the lamps had dimmed and the only noise was the rustling of a few lone leaves being blown about by the wind. Fred immediately felt uneasy - he didn't recognise the few shops that had been boarded up, and his senses were immediately heightened by the atmosphere - and the fact that the Death Eaters had sent him there. It couldn't be good.

Unsure of exactly what he was meant to do, Fred looked around, but couldn't see much in the gloom, and so bent his head into his coat to avoid attracting attention, and began to walk. A few shadows past him in the street, but he ignored all of them. The only thing on Fred's mind was to leave - as quickly as possible.

"George! George - wait!"

It took two calls and the sound of rapid footsteps clipping towards him until Fred remembered to answer to the familiar name.

"Angelina? What - " Fred was almost going to say, 'What are you doing, calling for George?' But of course, he knew. And saying that might have been a bit of a give away that he was not, in fact, George. So he bit the question back, and let out the first thing that came into his mind. "What are you doing out this late?" he finished. He offered her his jacket, which she accepted with a smile.

"I was just on my way home, actually. I've only just left my grandmother's house," Angelina told him, grinning at the look on Fred's face. The twins had met Angelina's family at a party she'd invited them to a few years ago, and had both shared the opinion that her grandmother was rather volatile, along with being more than slightly senile. Her moods were as unpredictable as the British weather, and her opinions varied just as often. "I must have lost track of the time."

"Oh," was all Fred could muster in reply as they walked down the street together. "That's a pretty necklace," he commented, slightly unnerved by the silence they so seldom shared.

"Thank you," Angelina smiled up at him, turning the locket over and over on it's chain. "Actually, my grandmother just gave it to me. She seemed a bit dazed to be honest - she must have been, to have finally given me a gift! It used to be Rowena Ravenclaw's, you know," she told him, a faint smile still on her face. "You know how Nana was always so annoyed that I wasn't a Ravenclaw, like most of the family? Well, it seems she's finally gotten over it," Angelina explained, gesturing to the locket. "It was all quite strange - it was her prize possession - I always thought she'd give it to Benjamin, he was always the better sibling in her eyes. But I suppose she decided that a girl really would be more wise."

"What did you just say?" Fred asked, having been visibly startled by her choice of words. Wise and prize - they struck a bell, along with sounding slightly out of place for Angelina to choose in regular speech. But Fred didn't have to rack his brains for long to come up with what had made him jump.

Bring to us what we want,
Keep your eye on the prize,
But above all,
Make sure your choice is wise.

"George? Are you alright?" Angelina asked, noticing the queer look in his eyes. Fred nodded absentmindedly as he took her arm to lead her on down the road. He didn't fail to notice that it was getting darker than was normal for this time of day. All the things seem to point to one conclusion - what the Death Eaters wanted. But which choice would be wise?

"Angelina? Can I have a look at your necklace?" Fred asked, but knowing before the words were even out of his mouth that it wouldn't be that easy. Voldemort had obviously sent him there to get the necklace - Fred knew enough about the goings on of this war from his days in the Order to know that Voldemort had several Horcruxes, and that four of them were something to do with the Founders. It was like a big scavenger hunt, with the Order on one team and the Death Eaters on another, each fighting to try and find all of the Horcruxes first. Fred guessed that Voldemort or one of the Death Eaters must have placed Angelina’s grandmother under the Imperious curse, or something of the sort, to get her to give it to Angelina. He wondered why they had gone to all the bother, and not just have taken it when they cursed her grandmother - but of course, that was only half the fun. Tormenting people was a game to the Death Eaters - more than that, it was an art.

There are more ways than one to torture a man, as Fred well knew.

But perhaps it was more than just a game, a way of testing whether Fred was Death Eater material or not. Fred couldn't help but wonder if there was some sort of charm Voldemort had put on the necklace in order to protect it - and yet it had fallen in to the wrong hands. Fred was pretty sure that the charm must be diligo donatus; the object charmed either had to be directly given to someone else, of the owner's free will, or taken by someone whom the owner loved. Fred wondered if the Death Eaters had sent him because they thought he was George or because they knew he was Fred.

"Why?" Angelina asked him suspiciously. "I don't think it's your colour," she laughed, looking away. "Come on - it's not safe to be out this late. George!"

Even in the darkness Fred could see that Angelina looked worried. "Let me see your necklace, Angelina," he persisted, holding out his hand for it.

"No," she shook her head again. "George - is something wrong? Is this about Fred?"

At the mention of his own name, and knowing exactly what she meant by it, Fred snapped and drew out his wand. "The necklace. Give it to me. Now," he commanded in a snarl.

"George? Stop it!" Angelina sounded truly panicked now, her voice an octave higher than it normally would be. But she still refused to hand over the trinket. A Gryffindor to the end, Fred thought, with a trace of a smile. Oh Merlin - no - I hope it doesn't come to that - the end. "Is this some kind of joke?"

You excel in pranks and tricks,
But this time it is no joke.

"Because if it is, it's not funny!"

"Please!" Fred begged one last time, raising his wand to her throat.

"Wait -" Angelina looked confused, and she was squinting slightly to try and penetrate the dark that engulfed them both, but Fred knew instantly what thoughts were connecting in her mind, what word would be on her lips in less than a second. "Fr - "

"Av - Stupefy!" Fred yelled, a bolt of red light hitting Angelina square in the chest, as Fred rapidly caught her before she hit the ground. He quickly snatched the necklace from round her neck before lowering her gently to the ground.

As quickly as he could, he Disapperated back to the meeting point, the last thought that was running through his mind being, I can't believe what I almost did.

However, Fred had no time to dwell on his actions, or almost actions, for as soon as he appeared on the grounds, the Dark Lord advanced upon him.

"Well? Did you complete your mission?" he hissed. Fred said nothing, but pulled the locket out and dropped it in front of him. The effect it had on Voldemort was evident from the way his features lit up with a smirk, as he nodded for Wormtail to go and pick it up. "Very good. You have passed your initiation - you have proved your worth. Now it is time." He nodded at the other Death Eaters, who again formed a circle around the two.

Fred heard a cackle come from somewhere to his left, he saw the shudder of a hooded figure remembering his own experience, he felt his nerves tingle with the anticipation, he smelt the burning that was coming from the Dark Lord's wand behind him.

"Hold out your arm," he commanded. Fred obeyed, making sure to show no hesitation. He tried to block out the pain as he smelt rather than felt the singing of the mark the wand was leaving upon his arm. He was far too distracted by the lone thought that was traipsing round and round in his mind. The Death Eaters seemed to be making some sort of chant, although Fred could have been imagining it - he couldn’t hear much more than the echo of his notion repeating itself over and over inside his head. Were you really going to do it? Cast the spell that nearly left your mouth? The spell that has devastated so many families, including your own - you were going to inflict that on someone yourself? On Angelina, no less? Were you really going to do it?

What happened at Fred’s marking was lost from his memory - the only thing he remembered was his disbelief in what he had almost done. He was brought back to reality by the stinging sensation in his arm, and the Death Eaters all looking up at him without the malice he had come to recognise in their eyes.

"Finally,” the Dark Lord proclaimed with a grim smile, “another Weasley."

Hang on - another Weasley? Fred thought in disbelief, looking around frantically at the hooded figures, trying to distinguish if there was anyone he recognise. He didn't even notice one of the Death Eaters lean up closer to the Dark Lord to whisper something in his ear, nor did he see the Dark Lord give a curt nod. All he saw was two Death Eaters slowly advance, grab him roughly by the shoulders, and haul him away before throwing him unceremoniously into a room. Once more, Fred was left alone with his thoughts.

As he settled himself down into a somewhat more comfortable position on the damp floor, Fred wondered once again how it had all come to this.

It had all started after his father's death. The family was falling apart - Ron had left to hunt Horcruxes with Harry, Ginny had run away - whether to try and find Harry or just to escape the general hell, no one was sure. Percy was still refusing to speak to any of the family, although Fred secretly thought that this wasn't down to stubbornness, but overwhelming guilt for not having made up with Arthur before it was too late. Charlie was still away in Romania - as far as they knew - no one had heard from him in quite a long time. Bill was half a werewolf, and not coping with the side affects well. Molly had understandably gone to pieces. She was trying to be strong for her family, but no amount of watery smiles and overcooked meals could cover how badly she was hurting, how red her eyes always seemed to be, how many sleepless nights she spent, worrying who would be next.

Fred began to see less and less of his siblings, each of them going their separate ways, it seemed as if they'd lost far more than one family member. The only thing in his and George's shop that were funny were the items it sold - and even they were turning less for laughs and pranks, and more for self defence, such as the Shield Hats. But the worst things about the shop was the atmosphere. Verity had left to look after her remaining family, and with him and George having more on their minds than the well-being of the shop, it had turned dark and gloomy, with dust and cobwebs on odd shelves, displays not being restocked, and nowhere near as much laughter - if any.

When the shop was open at all, that was. The was so much else to do during the war, that only one twin could be looking after the shop at a time - and to Fred, that twin always seemed to be him. He wondered what George did to be so busy - without him - but they barely saw each other enough to ask. Fred felt like he barely saw anyone anymore, and when the occasional old friend popped in for a visit, it wasn't the old friend he remembered. It was a shell of his friend. A wizard with dark features and worn out looks who could no longer afford to smile. Witches with ragged robes as no one had the time or courage to get new ones.

Fred hardly even saw Angelina anymore, and they had been dating properly since the war had begun, not wanting to waste what little time they might have left. She came into the shop to visit him now and again, asking how the family was and what his plans were for the week - but it wasn't the same. Nothing was the same anymore.

Fred wondered when it was that he knew for certain that things had changed, and even when the war ended they would probably never be again.

He knew that really it had been the day he had lost George. The day he had found him and Angelina, pressed up against the shelf holding the excess boxes of Holiday Hagifiers. It was the thing he'd been most afraid of - far more so than Voldemort. The worst the Dark Lord could do was kill him with one single spell. That sight tore him apart piece by piece, starting with his heart, draining his life away slowly, painstakingly. After all, Fred had thought bitterly, there's more than one way to kill a man.

He hadn't just lost his girlfriend and his brother, he had lost his best friend and his other half. Fred wasn't even sure which was which, the two had blended together so well. Too well.

Fred tried to make himself believe that he was going over to the Dark Side to make things better, to maybe stop them destroying other people's lives as they had destroyed his. But he knew in his heart of hearts that this wasn't true. He was joining the Death Eaters for a distraction, because he had lost it all, his friends, his family, his life. He had nothing left to lose - and surely any life had to be better than the one he had been dying in before. And any life just happened to be the dark side of life - the Dark Side of the war.

And so he had joined the Death Eaters. Just because there was nothing else left for him to do. He had no life left to tare away anymore.

As Fred thought over his bitter thoughts and memories, he blinked as light flooded into the dark and damp of the cell he had been throw into. As he regained focus in his vision, he saw one of the hooded figures descend down to him.

"We have received word that you did not complete your initiation task. Do you realise that failure means that you are unworthy of the honour of becoming one of the elite?" the figure asked hoarsely.

"I didn't fail - I brought back the Horcrux! I got the necklace - what more do you want?" Fred shouted, all the emotions that had been brought back to him from his recollections of what had brought him to that point all rising to the surface. Fred didn't care for the consequences - he didn't know what he cared for anymore.

"Still the same old Fred," the wizard chuckled, lifting his hood backwards to reveal his face as Fred blinked in the light.

“George,” Fred corrected, wondering how after all of this ordeal he had regained the piece of mind to remember his current alias.

The Death Eater laughed, a short, hollow laugh. “You think after all these years I can’t tell the difference between you two? At any rate, I can’t forget the time you decided to test out whether you could fly on a Filibuster's Firework whilst carrying the family owl to make an escape on in case the firework exploded prematurely - the event which got you that small scar underneath your left eye. Don’t worry - I haven’t said anything. But why are you posing as George, anyway? I‘d have thought he‘s the last person you‘d want to be associated with.”

“I don’t know,” Fred admitted stonily, trying to keep up an appearance of nonchalance, as if seeming like it might make it true. “I guess - I guess I wanted to hurt him like he’d hurt me, tarnish his name as being a Death Eater. Maybe I just wanted my brother back, and pretending to be him again made it seem almost real. Or perhaps, as he’s the one that took my life, I wanted to take his.”

Both wizards was silent for a minute, as if contemplating the admission. But there was no time for emotion when you were a Death Eater. "Glad to know that you put your past to good use - remembering the Horcruxes,” he said abruptly, continuing as if the words had never been said. “Still the same old Gryffindor spirit. But are you really a Death Eater, Fred?"

"I can't believe that you are, Bill," Fred spat out, as the realisation came through. With Bill’s trying to forget his past words, his admission of having feelings, went all amiability between the brothers. He almost wished that the light had blinded him permanently - of course, he had known from the Dark Lord's remark earlier about him being "another Weasley", but it was still a shock to see his eldest brother, the boy he had looked up to all those years, reduced to that.

"Hark at the pot calling the kettle black. Fred, you're my brother, and I don't want to see you get hurt anymore. The Dark Lord's giving you one more chance - and believe me, it took a lot to get that. Your task wasn't just to get the Horcrux - it was to dispose of the old owner as well. You can't just have people running around, blabbing about the goings on that happen here. Angelina's a smart girl, she'll put two and two together. And when that happens, her number's up anyway - you may as well do it now, and save your own skin while you're at it."

"You speak like a Slytherin," Fred said scornfully, unable to look his brother in the eye. Part of him wanted to ask why, why he had turned to this, why he had thrown his life away. Another part of him never wanted to know.

"When are you going to grow up, Fred? We aren't at Hogwarts anymore, things aren't all roses and sunshine!" Bill sounded angrier than Fred had ever heard him before, his voice echoing through the damp of the room, sounding a thousand times worse than his original words. The worse part wasn't the anger, but the sincerity of Bill's voice, how he believed everything he was saying - and how Fred did as well. "Who cares if we lose the cup, or if Hufflepuff beat us in the Quidditch match? What does it matter anymore? What does anything matter anymore? Bad things are happening, and there's nothing we can do to stop them. We can only stop ourselves from ending up worse off than we already are - which you must already know, otherwise you wouldn't be here. Here," Bill chucked an old torch to Fred, which he instinctively caught. "It's a Portkey. It'll take you to Angelina in about thirty seconds or so. I think she's back at her house now - she just came around a few minutes ago from when you stunned her, so it should be fairly easy to surprise her. You know what you have to do, you know your options. It's your choice whether you make the right one or not."

As Bill left the room, Fred felt himself being slowly lifted, as the Portkey began to glow, and held on tightly. Just remember, you're doing this for George - to pay George back, he steeled his heart as he resisted the urge to let go. He left his eyes open, wanting to see the world speeding up, the blur of colours melding before him, reflecting his life as all the colours drifted into black and white, which clashed together to make a murky grey.

At that point Fred felt he had to close his eyes, as if he didn't his brain would mash with the colours, and collapse completely. When he opened them again he was in mass of limbs on the floor of what he recognised to be Angelina's kitchen. It was as he had known it more recently - a mess, with old pots and dishes stacked up by the sink, waiting to be cleaned and new ones at the ready in the cupboard without any doors. Angelina always said that she herself had removed the cupboard doors herself, as she always forgot to wave them open with her wand when she summoned plates, and as a result had many kitchen calamities. Fred had always thought that it was the result of a stray hex that Angelina wasn't sure how to fix.

He groggily shook himself up from his position on the floor, and staggered towards the door, looking into Angelina's lounge where slow, quiet music drifted in through the open door. For a minute Fred frowned - this wasn't the music Angelina listened to, certainly not when he knew her, anyway. But then, who knows how long ago that really was, Fred wondered, although he couldn't help but feel a small sense of satisfaction when Angelina waved the music off exasperatedly.

Fred nearly fell backwards into the mass of cutlery as he felt a sharp, burning pain on his left arm. For a minute he wondered if Angelina had somehow sensed him, and so sent her pile of used forks to attack, or if perhaps he hadn't noticed a sharp knife sticking out from a drawer which had cut him, but he soon realised what it was - the Dark Mark. It must be Voldemort's way of telling him to get on with the job, before he lost his resolve - if he hadn't already.

With a start, he saw Angelina get up, and knew that whatever his choice was, he wasn't going to make it like a coward. "Angelina," he said softly, although with an air of authority, a man on a mission.

"Fred," she said coldly, turning around to face him, not showing any sign of surprise. "It is you, isn't it?"

"Yes," he admitted without any regret. "It is. But isn't it funny how you immediately assumed that I was George?"

"Your sense of humour seems to have slipped, Fred," Angelina told him dryly. "And I didn't find that - that - whatever you want to call what happened earlier funny either."

"Yeah, that's me: Fred Weasley, for the laughs. But do you know what's really funny, Angelina?" Fred asked, advancing upon Angelina, who looked more scared than she had ever been in her life. "What's really funny, is that when I said 'I love you', I meant it."

Angelina stayed silent, the look in her eyes conveying the hurt she felt inside, but Fred was sure that nothing could equal the hurt he had felt. Slowly he drew out his wand, pointing it at Angelina.

“Fred, it was a mistake!” Angelina protested, as she saw in Fred’s eyes what he was going to do. “Just a mistake - like the one you made in your Potions exam - it could have happened to anyone! Remember all the good times, the laughs we shared in class, Quidditch, the Yule Ball, stealing food from the kitchens, Fred - remember all of those? There were thousands of good times, and you’re focusing this all on one little mistake?” Angelina asked hysterically, tears falling out of her eyes as the edged away.

“The key word there is ‘were’,” Fred informed her, taking a large step forwards, his wand outstretched. “There were thousands of good times - but not anymore. You may be right, maybe it was a mistake - but somehow I don’t think it so. As when you make a mistake, you say sorry, you put it right, and you don’t do it again. But that’s not exactly what happened with your ‘little’ mistake, is it?” Fred asked wildly, as Angelina looked on in silence. “It may be a mistake, but it’s a mistake that warrants a life. As that one mistake was the final straw, that mistake cost me the two people I loved most - the only two people I had left. That mistake made me join the Death Eaters. That mistake made me able to utter the Killing curse.”

“No! Fred - you’re not a Death Eater - you can’t be! Fred, this isn’t you,” Angelina pleaded desperately, as she paced backwards awkwardly, tripping over a stool and backing into the wall, her eyes never leaving the end of Fred‘s wand, the end that was pointed at her heart once more. “Fred, please! You can’t live like this - it’s not too late!”

“Will things ever be the same as before?” Fred asked hollowly, twirling his wand around in his fingers until it rested at the right angle. He already knew the answer. “Then yes, it is too late.”

Angelina couldn’t help but scream as the green light left Fred’s wand, but the echoes of the scream faded away into sobs as Fred’s limp body fell to the floor.