Just weeks ago, you were in their apartment above the shop.

Fred had found a record player in a muggle shop and insisted on dancing with you while George threw popcorn at both of you from the sofa, laughing like an idiot.

You had never felt safer. The three of you, tucked away from the world.

You thought it would last forever.

Now, you were running.

Through Hogwarts—what was left of it. The castle you’d once wandered freely was unrecognizable, the air thick with dust and smoke. Walls cracked open. Portraits hung askew, frames splintered. The echo of spellfire shook the stones beneath your feet.

You’d seen people fall. Some stunned, others too still. Cries of pain and shouted spells chased you through every corridor. Familiar faces blurred past in the chaos—fighting, shielding, weeping.

You searched wildly, casting spells, dodging stray curses. Your eyes darted through smoke and debris, scanning every face. You didn’t know where you were going—just that you had to find them. Find him.

Somewhere in the chaos, you’d lost them—Fred and George. One second they were at your side, the next swallowed by the battlefield. You shouted until your throat burned, heart pounding—not just from running, but fear.

Then—

An explosion.

So loud it shook the very bones of the castle. A sudden, violent blast—followed by screams. Familiar screams.

You didn’t think. You ran toward it, feet pounding, ignoring debris, the sting of stone scraping your arms. Dust and smoke choked the air, but you pushed through until you reached the corridor where the screams echoed.

Then the world stopped.

Fred was on the ground.

Still.

His body half-buried in the rubble of a fallen wall. There was bl00d on his temple. His lips still curved like he was struck mid-laugh. Like some cruel joke had frozen him there, caught between life and the punchline.

And George—

George was crumpled beside him, hands in his brother’s shirt, his voice raw and breaking as he said his name over and over again.

“Fred. Fred, come on—” His hands trembled violently. “You absolute idiot—wake up, alright? Come on, you can’t—don’t do this—”

You dropped to your knees beside them. “No. No, no—” you whispered, your hands trembling as they hovered over Fred.

George didn’t look at you. He was staring at Fred like if he just held tight enough, he could bring him back.

“He was just laughing,” George whispered. “He made a joke, and then—it happened so fast, I didn’t—I didn’t see it coming.”

You couldn’t speak. Could barely breathe.

Fred Weasley—who lived like fire, who laughed like it was his weapon and his gift, who made even the darkest days feel a little brighter—was lying silent in the dust.

Your hands shook as you brushed dirt gently from his forehead.

He was warm. Still warm.

You leaned down, lips brushing his temple. “Please,” you whispered, voice cracking. “Come on. This isn’t it. You’re not allowed to go—not without knowing—”

The tears came hard.

“I didn’t get to tell you,” you breathed, resting your forehead against his. “I loved you. I love you, and you don’t even know.”

He didn’t move.

George made a sound—raw, strangled, not meant for this world.

You turned to him, cradling his face. “We can still help him. He’s warm, George. He might—he might still be here.”

George’s eyes were wild. “He—he has to come back. He’s not gone. He—he promised we’d go back home.”

”I know.” You pulled him into a hug, both of you shaking, clinging to each other over Fred’s still body. “Fred doesn’t break promises.”

You reached for Fred’s hand, took it in yours, and held it like it could tether him to this world. George wrapped his arms around both of you.

And there, in the wreckage of a castle that had already taken too much, you held him—Fred Weasley, your fire, your unspoken love—and refused to let go.

Because this couldn’t be the end.

Not for Fred.

Not when love still remained, spoken too late—but held just the same.