CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE:
THE END OF EVERYTHING

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JUNE 30, 1997. . .

ALBUS DUMBLEDORE WAS DEAD. The one man who You-Know-Who had genuinely feared, enough to have someone murder him, was... gone. Killed at Snape's cruel hand; Snape was someone Dumbledore had trusted -- for Merlin only knew what reason -- and in the end, his faith had found him with a knife in his back. Harry had watched his body tumble from the Astronomy Tower, like a fallen star with its light snuffed out; burning, burnt.

Try as she might, Freya McKinnon couldn't bring herself to care about Dumbledore's demise. At least, not in the way the rest of The Order, who would've followed Dumbledore blind, seemed to feel the effects of his loss. Freya's heart was simply numb. As she watched Fraser's chest expand and contract with each inhale and exhale -- the only sign that her dad was fighting on -- she couldn't find it in her to pretend. Freya McKinnon wasn't a liar. Dumbledore's life was not worth more than her father's, and yet, Fraser had nearly given up everything for him and what he stood for.

In that way, the father and daughter were different. Freya could count on one hand the people she would die for, and her old Headmaster certainly wasn't one of them.

Beside Fraser's bed was another in which Bill Weasley laid. The two men had matching scars now, for when Fenrir Greyback attacked Bill, Fraser happened to be close by and came running to his aid. A scratch now marked the skin from his eyebrow to his jaw. His skin was still stained with splotches of blood, and Freya couldn't bear the gut-wrenching sight of it; instead, she watched as the Weasleys crowded around Bill and prayed that his wounds, which were significantly worse than Fraser's own, would not be the end of him.

Fraser McKinnon would not die, but Freya knew his life would not be the same in the aftermath of his decision, of this fateful, treacherous night.

Green light. Screaming. A fallen body whose face was shielded by Fenrir Greyback's hulking frame. Fraser was at Freya's side one second and gone the next. Freya barely had time to think straight with Dolohov shooting curses at her and the sudden loss of her father bearing him down.

"Stupefy!" Freya exclaimed, and let out a huff of relief when the curse met its mark at long last. Dolohov collapsed in a heap and Freya didn't hesitate to flee.

That was when she found him. Fraser, crouched over, clutching at his eye as crimson trickled down his face like someone had cracked his features in two. She barely had time to scream before a Death Eater came up from behind and got him in the thigh. Fraser went down quickly, his legs unable to hold his weight as he sobbed like his whole body had been set alight.

"Dad!" Freya bawled. It felt like an eternity before she collapsed at his side, just in time for his eyes to roll back in his head. His body was motionless, a heavy stone, and no matter how much Freya pleaded, her father did not wake up.

He couldn't be... He wasn't...

"Freya!" She flinched as hands latched onto her shoulders, and it was only when the man had kneeled beside her, frantically looking around them as he did, that she realised who it was who'd found them. George. He always knew when Freya needed him. "Hey, come on, we have to move!"

But Freya was frozen, rooted in place. Was this the grand moment? Had Death found the McKinnons again, hunted them down until they couldn't run anymore?

George didn't hesitate. As green light skimmed their heads and ricocheted of the brick behinr them, he hauled Fraser up until he could sling the man's arm around his shoulders. Lee and Solana appeared then, their exhaustion evident, but they forced Freya to stand before Lee grabbed Fraser's other arm and the group fled. They passed Fred along the way, who was fighting the Death Eater who'd taken down Fraser. The last Freya saw of them, Fred had gained the upper hand, and he had a furious glint of determination in his eyes.

This was a fight he would win.

Back in the present, as Fleur and Mrs Weasley argued -- as they always did whenever they were around each other -- Freya bowed her head and covered her face with trembling hands. Slowly, the panic had fought its way through the cracks, then struck Freya just when it became easier to breathe. Her head started to spin, and Freya feared she'd pass out if she didn't regain control.

Death had come so close.

And even when Fraser opened his eyes and saw another day, nothing would ever be the same.

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JULY 28, 1997. . .

"GEORGE IS ASKING FOR you."

A whole day had passed since George lost his ear, and yet, it seemed like forever and then some. The night before, after composing herself in the yard, Freya and Fraser had returned just in time to hear that Mundungus Fletcher had left Mad-Eye Moody to die after Bill and Fleur watched them fall from their broom. A few of The Order -- including Fraser after a lot of insistence -- had gone back for his body afterwards but returned home empty-handed.

With the knowledge in mind that another of their own was taken by the enemy, the group had dispersed for a night of reeling, a period of mourning for yet another man who laid down his life for them. Freya hadn't slept a wink, not that she'd expected anything different, but had disappeared to the twins' old bedroom before anyone could question her. She knew George needed her. Several times, Fred and Solana had knocked on the door repeating the same thing.

George wants you.

Come on, Frey, don't shut him out.

But it was different when it was his mother.

Mrs Weasley's stare burned holes into the back of Freya's head. She turned slowly, feeling cold despite the jumper she'd stolen that smelled like George, and the blanket she'd wrapped around her shoulders. It was the kind of chill that settled deep in her bones, a shadow of guilt that clung to her like a second skin.

Mrs Weasley pursed her lips. She didn't say much, but her disapproval was searing, festering like a bruise. It said everything Freya needed to know, enough that she could've recited it word-for-word when Mrs Weasley sighed, "He needs you, Freya. And you need him. So stop hiding and come downstairs. Please."

She left the door open on her way out.

A minute later, Freya picked herself up and followed her. She was too tired to clean up before facing the music, but no one was downstairs except Mrs Weasley, who bustled around in the kitchen, and George, who was staring out the window when the bottom step creaked beneath Freya's feet.

"Frey," George's whole face seemed to light up at the sight of her. Freya fought the urge to throw her arms around him. Instead, she crossed the room tentatively, and curled up on the floor beside the couch. Immediately, George's hand found hers. "You've been avoiding me."

He sounded amused for the most part, but Freya caught the unmistakable tone of uncertainty seeping through the cracks and frowned.

"You alright?"

"I should be asking you that," she said, her free hand reaching up to brush against the bandage that was wrapped around his head. "You scared me, George. I thought..."

She didn't say anything else, but George understood what she meant. He grinned, and bought her hand up to his face so he could plant a kiss on her knuckles. "You can't get rid of me that easy, babe."

"As if I'd want to," she scoffed, keenly aware that Mrs Weasley was only a couple of metres away. She was too busy looking out the window as she cleaned the dishes, but Freya knew well that at any sign of trouble, Mrs Weasley had the nose -- well, ears -- of a bloodhound. If there was even a chance Freya would hurt her son, in more ways than one, she would want to know. "I'm sorry, George."

For more than you know.

"Don't be," George murmured. Despite his easy smile, his words were tinged with hints of disappointment. "We can just forget about it."

I love you.

Did you hear me?

... Do you not feel the same?

It's okay. I can wait.

Before Freya could change her mind, she leant forward and kissed him. Carefully cradling his face like glass, she whispered, "I love you, George. Don't ever scare me like this again."

His smile was blinding.

"I make no promises," he teased, then kissed her once more; this time, with more confidence, like he'd never once doubted that he had Freya's heart. "I love you."

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"I THINK WE SHOULD break up."

When Solana had asked Fred to talk outside, this was not how he'd expected the conversation to go. For a stunned moment, there was silence. Solana watched him through wide eyes, but there was nothing about her expression that seemed uncertain. She'd planned this... for Merlin only knew how long. Fred felt like he'd been sucker-punched.

"I don't understand. Where's this come from then?"

Solana's brows furrowed, and she curled her arms around her stomach like she was staunching a bleeding wound. That was the only real sign of anxiety Fred noticed. Apart from that, Solana stood tall, kept her head held high even when Fred's hands balled into fists.

"I've been feeling like this for a while--"

"A while?" Fred scoffed, a muscle in his jaw clenched tight. "And you didn't think to tell me?" Silence. All of a sudden, she couldn't look him in the eye. "I mean, fuck. You only told me you loved me an hour ago! Was that a lie?"

"No--"

"Then what's happening right now?"

"I just can't be with you anymore, okay?"

"Can't be or don't want to be?"

Solana hesitated. Fred's heart sank. He would not cry. Not yet. "Don't want to be."

"Right," Fred let out a hollow laugh. "Then I guess I'll see you when I see you."

"Fred..."

He left her in the yard without another word, refusing to turn back no matter how much he wanted to. I've been feeling like this for a while.

He was a fool.

A fucking idiot.

The ring box in his pocket suddenly felt impossibly heavy. He pegged it across the room the second he found himself in private; up the stairs past where George and Freya were cuddled up on the couch, back and better than ever. His old bedroom felt foreign and unfamiliar as he sunk down onto the end of his old bed and let the first tear finally fall.

The square-shaped box taunted him from the corner. Fred buried his face in his hands and wept.

He'd loved her.

But love wasn't nearly enough.

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A/N: So... what are we thinking? 🥴 This chapter was a lot to write, but I'm not even in the thick of it yet. Any predictions for what's going to happen? Let me know! I have a lot planned for Deathly Hallows, both for Freya and her friends...