CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO:
WHEN YOU'RE GONE
(trigger warning: mentions of death)

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AS BILL AND FLEUR kissed for the first time as husband and wife, Freya raised her camera to catch the moment in a photograph. The sudden flash was bright and eye-catching, causing some of Fleur's veela cousins to grimace and glare in her direction, but Freya paid them no attention as she lowered her camera and clapped, a beaming smile cut across her face.

Fleur looked radiant in her white lace dress with her hair pinned back by Aunt Muriel's prized tiara. Bill couldn't stop staring at her; the gaze of a man who counted himself incredibly lucky. Instinctively, Freya raised her camera again and snapped another picture, glancing down at the moving image of the couple just gazing at each other. Glitter was dotted in Bill's hair from the confetti cannons the twins had organised, and a stray dove flew around their heads like the halo of an angel bought to life, and they just looked so happy.

Freya had missed her photography; it was the familiar weight of a camera in her hands, the composition of a good photo taken almost effortlessly. She was honoured that Bill and Fleur had even thought to ask her ― part of her put it down to George and his meddling ways ― for once, she was doing something good, something that made its mark.

And everyone else was happy, too. Perhaps it was bad timing, but for just one day, the Death Eaters were an afterthought. Even the bandage wrapped firmly around George's head couldn't lower her spirits. Sure, Solana and Fred were strangely quiet as Solana stuck to Freya's side like glue and Fred gave her the cold shoulder, but they got like that sometimes. Freya would ask Sol about it tomorrow, when the light feeling in her chest inevitably went away.

For now, she wanted to eat her weight in the fancy desserts Fleur's parents had ordered, dance until her feet went numb (no matter how much she hated it, alcohol could do absolute wonders) and take photos until her camera's storage was ready to implode. Everything else could wait; Freya McKinnon had decided she wanted to feel normal.

"Come on," she declared to a stony-faced Solana as the tables and chairs cleared to the sides of the marquee. In the very centre was a giant dance floor where Bill and Fleur were beginning their first dance. It was a lively tune, one that quickly reached a crescendo as onlookers clapped to the beat and eventually joined in. "We're dancing."

"I'm good right here," Solana refused; subconsciously, her eyes had drifted to where Fred was offering one of the veela girls a drink. George stood beside his twin, shaking his head and laughing at whatever Fred was saying. Fleur must've overheard them, for she marched away from Bill to glare at Fred and drag her giggling cousin into the crowd.

Freya watched the scene unfold and sighed, some of the lightness already beginning to fade. She let her camera strap hang around her neck and reached out to shake Solana's shoulders. "Look, I don't know what's going on there, but it can wait. It's a wedding, Sol. People are supposed to have fun at weddings."

Something sharp slashed across Solana's face, blooming like a bruise. She pushed Freya's hands away, voice brittle when she exclaimed, "We killed somebody, Freya." No one was close enough to hear her, but Freya felt her stomach drop anyways. She made a frantic hushing sound, and Solana's voice lowered the slightest bit. "How aren't you going out of your mind right now?"

"I am," Freya snapped. Solana was avoiding her eyes, but Freya recognised the glint in them, the dead weight of horror that would never quite fade. She tried to reach for her again but the centimetres between them felt like a mile. Solana took another weak step back. "Sol, it's going to eat you alive if you let it."

Solana didn't respond. The music picked up, and a rush of bodies twirled around them, leaving her to slip away quickly. Freya cursed and went to follow, then ran square into somebody's chest.

"Fuck," she hissed and rubbed her shoulder. At the same time, she panicked and looked over her camera, relieved to find there were no scratches or dents on the lens. "Sorry, Dean, I wasn't watching where I was going."

"You're good, Frey," Dean Thomas waved her off with a laugh. It was strange to think he was seventeen now. It felt like only yesterday that thirteen-year-old Freya and Solana were watching Sol's little brother get sorted into Gryffindor. Now he towered over the both of them, more man than teen. "Hey, was that my sister I saw you with a second ago?"

"Yeah, but she's in a mood right now," Freya grumbled. When Dean frowned, she nodded over to where Fred and George were approaching them, George with Fred's arm around his shoulders as Fred chugged down yet another mug of firewhiskey. "I think they broke up. I don't know. Both of them are avoiding it."

Sighing, Dean glanced in the direction Solana had disappeared in. "Do you think she'd bite my head off if I confronted her?" Freya laughed, which was an answer in itself. "Nevermind."

When George and Fred joined them, Freya managed to draw George out onto the dance floor. Much like the bride and groom's first dance, the song was upbeat, and George did his best (and most embarrassing) attempt at a jig until Mrs Weasley came along and scolded him for 'not taking it easy.'

"But mum--"

"I'm not having it, George Weasley," Molly interrupted whatever George was about to whine. "Come on. Let Fraser have a chance to dance with his daughter. You can come with me and say hello to the cousins you've been avoiding..."

With that, Mrs Weasley wrapped her arm around George's elbow and dragged him into the sea of other redheads. He turned to pout at Freya as he went, blowing her one last dramatic kiss that she pretended to catch and pocket before Fraser moved in front of her.

"You two make me sick," he jokingly commented as the music changed to something slower. Despite his limp and the obvious pain his leg was giving him, Fraser stubbornly wrapped Freya in a hug and the two of them swayed, both stumbling over each others feet.

"I see I got my dancing skills from you," Freya scoffed, to which Fraser rolled his eyes but couldn't deny it.

"Trust me, Estelle was just as bad," he told her, and Freya smiled. She'd lost track of the days since her dad had his last drink. Hearing him speak of her mum was like a breath of fresh air. There was sadness in undertones, but not a tidal wave of pain. He hadn't mentioned Marlene yet, but Fraser was moving forward one step at a time. Marlene would come soon. "You know, your mum would've loved this. As much as I joke, she would've adored George too. She'd be pushing you two to get married and give her grandbabies already."

"But not you?"

"Oh, no," Fraser shuddered at just the thought. "You should know by now where I stand." They were quiet for a minute. Freya rested her head on his shoulder as the music came to an end. "I'm proud of you, kid." In explanation, he tugged on the camera strap around her neck. "You'll have to show me the photos."

"I hope Bill and Fleur like them," she murmured, the tiniest bit of uncertainty creeping in.

Fraser let out a scoff. "If they know what's good for them, they will."

At that, Freya rolled her eyes. "Oh, you're so intimidating, dad."

She wished she thought to capture that moment too; the amused smirk on his lips, the pain forgotten in the sound of laughter in the air. He even spun Freya around without so much as a wince, the tulle of her black and gold dress twirling around her legs like a wave of ink.

Not a minute later, everything went up in flames.

The laughter and the dancing stopped out of nowhere. The bride and groom had gathered in front of the cake where Mr Weasley was doing his best to get everyone's attention. Freya spied George and Fred stood with their mother, both with matching scowls on their faces as Aunt Muriel made one of her usual judging remarks in their direction. Solana was nowhere to be seen, but Freya didn't think anything of it until it was too late.

It was then that the tent went pitch black. A confused murmur made its way through the crowd, and the dancefloor quickly emptied out as blue light suddenly ripped through the darkness. It was a patronus, its smoke spirals echoing with the faint hum of screams and crashes. Freya felt her heart sink like a stone. Deep down, she knew the day was too good to be true. Happiness slipped between her fingers just like that; in its place was an eerie ache of foreboding, a cold sense of awareness.

"The Ministry has fallen," Kingsley's unmistakeable voice gave a grim warning. "The Minister of Magic is dead. They are coming..."

Silence.

And then, chaos.

"We need to get out of here," Fraser insisted as the marquee quickly emptied out. Guests were apparating everywhere, and Freya didn't think as she fled from her dad's side. She needed to find George, she needed to find Solana. This couldn't be happening. This had to be a dream, a nightmare. "Freya! Freya, wait--"

People started to scream as black shadows invaded the tent. The Death Eaters had appeared looking for Harry, their faces concealed by crude masks, as the silk canvas of the marquee began to burn. Someone had lit it on fire, the air thickening with smoke and trouble, death and decay.

"George!" Freya screamed, then quickly ducked as a Death Eater fired a curse in her direction. She reached for the wand strapped to her thigh, but her hands trembled and no spells came to mind. "Solana!"

In the sea of faces, there wasn't one she recognised. Panic ballooned in her chest, and Freya gasped as another green light grazed past her face. This one mets its mark and struck an elderly man to the ground. His eyes stared wide and unseeing through the torn roof, the last of the sunset burning orange in his gaze. Freya wanted to stop, but her feet carried her away.

The Order had to be there somewhere. She just needed to find them.

"Dad!" she screamed, and hot tears scalded her skin, lines of mascara running down to her chin. She never should've left him. How could she be so stupid? "George!"

Maybe she should just go alone, maybe--

It was then that she spotted Solana, but the relief was short-lived. She was surrounded by four Death Eaters; Fred and George were facing off against two of them, leaving the other two to back Solana into a corner. Freya wanted to run forward, but she was rooted in place, somehow going unnoticed in the blur of fire and shadow. One of the Death Eaters lifted their mask, and Freya caught a familiar, stomach-twisting flash of skin before the man screamed something and Solana dropped like a stone. Blood spurted from various wounds that weren't there previously. Solana didn't move again.

"Freya!" Fraser had managed to find her then. His face was twisted up in agony, and his leg was spasming whenever he tried to put weight on it, but he would've crawled his way to her if he had to. Fortunately, Dean was with him, oblivious to the carnage behind him as he helped drag Fraser along by his arms. "We need to go, now!"

This time, she didn't fight him.

On the other side of the tent, Solana's limp body had disappeared in a twist of shadow, and Freya's did the same.

Death called for both of them that night, the girls with blood on their hands. He made his mark on one. The other would soon follow.