Fred was still at Verity’s. They’d let whatshername open the shop today (since her fiancée hadn’t actually been in a horrible accident and Fred had spent the morning pretending like he had no idea where that owl had come from). That didn’t mean that this late in the night, though, Fred was in any state to come to someone’s rescue.
For one, he was going to be a dad. For two – well, he’d drunk quite a bit when Verity wasn’t looking, thinking about the fact that he was going to be a dad, and though he held his liquor pretty well it was getting around to that time that someone was going to notice, and it was going to be her, and then there was going to be yelling.
The note from George was a life saver, and he explained to Verity that they had to go to the muggle side of London and bail out George and Angelina from evil coppers, which was at least distracting enough that he got them there without a problem.
Of course, then that bloke in the waiting area had said something about how he was dressed – which didn’t bother him – but had then put his hand on Verity’s shoulder, which really, really had. It had been a long time since Fred had actually punched anyone, and the bloke was a blood brick storefront, really. Fred was pretty sure he’d almost broken his hand, but that hadn’t really mattered as the bloke called his manhood into question and went at him, and ten minutes later the coppers were pulling him off of the bloke and tossing him into the cell with George.
Fred was still screaming out “You get your sodding hands off her she’s having my baby!” as they locked him in.
Somewhere he noticed that Verity was being tossed in with Angelina, too, but for the life of him he hadn't noticed why.