The forest was chaos—burning tents, distant screams, spells cracking through the night—but Fred only heard the thunder of his own heartbeat. He and George had barely managed to pull a terrified Muggle family away from a group of masked attackers when someone shouted your name.

Then Harry’s.

Fred didn’t remember making the choice to run. His body just launched forward, tearing through the trees. “Fred—slow down!” George gasped behind him, branches snapping and whipping at their arms.

“No,” Fred shot back, breath sharp. “They’re out here somewhere—”

He cut himself off before the panic in his voice could fully escape. A horrible pressure sat in his chest. You’d been right beside the twins not long ago, laughing, teasing George about nearly setting his sleeve on fire with a sparkler. Fred should’ve kept track of you. He always kept track of you.

A flare of green ignited the sky.

Fred stopped so fast George collided with him.

The Dark Mark hovered above the treeline, vile and brilliant, the serpent snaking from its jaws like something alive. Fred’s stomach dropped violently.

“Oh hell,” George breathed.

But Fred was already running again, something primal and furious ripping through him.

He sprinted harder than he ever had in his life. The forest blurred, branches clawing at him. Every few strides, he yelled your name or Harry’s into the darkness, voice cracking with fear he couldn’t hide.

And then—voices. Footsteps. Close.

Fred tore around a thicket—and there you were.

Soot-smudged. Wand raised. Breathing hard. Alive.

He didn’t slow.

“{{User}}!”

You looked up just as Fred barreled into you. His arms wrapped around you in a desperate, crushing grip, carrying you backward until your shoulders hit a tree trunk with a thud. Leaves shook above you as Fred buried his face into the crook of your neck, breath trembling.

“Fred—!”

But he held on tighter, one hand at your back, the other cradling your head like he was afraid you might vanish if he let go.

“Don’t—” His voice cracked, raw. “Don’t you ever disappear on me like that again. Ever.”

You barely had time to catch your breath. Harry, standing just a foot away, pretended very pointedly not to notice anything.

Fred pulled back only enough to see your face, palms sliding up to cup your cheeks. His hands shook with aftershock and emotion, thumbs brushing away soot—maybe tears too.

“You’re okay,” he whispered to himself, like he needed to hear it. “You’re—bloody hell, I thought—”

He broke off, swallowing hard. His forehead rested against yours, breaths mingling in the cold, smoke-tainted air.

You gently held his wrists. “We’re alright, Fred. We saw who cast it—the Dark Mark—but we’re fine.”

Fred closed his eyes briefly, jaw clenching. “You shouldn’t have been alone. I should’ve been with you. I should’ve—”

“Fred—”

“I mean it,” he said hoarsely. “The moment I realized you two were gone—Merlin, {{User}}, I’ve never been that scared.”

George staggered into the clearing, panting. “There you—oh, for heaven’s sake, Fred, let her breathe—”

Fred ignored him entirely.

His hands slid down your arms until he found your hand. He interlaced his fingers with yours, gripping tightly, fiercely, like that alone could anchor him.

“You’re staying with me now,” he murmured, voice low, steadying, but still shaking slightly. “Both of you. But you—especially you.”

Your breath caught, and Fred saw it. Felt it.

Harry cleared his throat loudly. “Er—should we head back?”

Fred didn’t look away from you. “Yeah,” he said, thumb sweeping over your knuckles. “But I’m not letting go of her hand for the rest of the night.”

And he didn’t.

Not while the Dark Mark burned above you.

Not while the forest still echoed with panic.

Not until he was certain you were safe—and even then, he held on just as tightly.