The battle had ended, but the dust hadn’t settled. Spells still echoed in the walls. Screams turned to sobs. And somewhere in that chaos, Fred and George were pushing through the rubble, frantic.

—“Where are they? Did anyone see them?”

George grabbed a passing Auror, breath ragged.

—“They were near the West Tower—have you seen—?”

The man, rushing by, barely looked back.

—“They didn’t make it. Sorry.”

And he was gone.

Fred froze mid-step. George’s heart stopped. For a moment, the world was silent. The idea of laughter gone. Of stories unfinished. Of a future without you.

Then, George turned sharply.

—“No. No, I don’t believe that. Come on.”

They ran again, eyes scanning desperately—until they saw Neville, staggering through the corridor. His arms were cradling someone.

You.

Fred let out a strangled sound.

Neville’s eyes widened as he saw them.

—“They're alive! Just unconscious—some rubble hit them during the last blast. I—I didn’t want to leave them behind.”

George knelt beside you immediately, brushing debris from your hair, checking your pulse. Relief flooded his face the moment he felt it.

—“You idiot,” he whispered with a trembling grin. “Don’t scare us like that.”

Fred stood over you, hands shaking slightly.

—“When you wake up,” he muttered, “we’re never letting you out of our sight again. Not even for the loo.”

Neville laughed weakly. George chuckled, but there were tears in his eyes.

And just like that, in the middle of what remained of Hogwarts, the twins sat by your side—waiting. Because the war might’ve ended… but with you, the story still had more pages left.