You were not supposed to be there.

That promise had been carved into your chest the night you left. Fred’s hands on your shoulders, his forehead pressed to yours, his voice unsteady as he told you to go somewhere safe. To stay with your relatives. To live. You had nodded because he needed you to. Because the war was closing in and loving him meant listening.

Weeks passed with no word. Every morning felt wrong. Every night worse. You tried to tell yourself that no news meant good news, but your heart refused to believe in silence.

When the screaming inside you became unbearable, you packed your things and left before dawn.

Hogwarts was barely recognizable. Smoke hung thick in the air, ash clinging to your clothes and hair as you walked through broken stone and scattered debris. The war was over. You could feel it in the stillness, in the absence of screams and spells. But that did not mean he was safe. Not until you saw him with your own eyes.

Your feet carried you to the Great Hall.

It was a ruin of what it once was. Tables shattered. The floor littered with rubble. Light filtered through broken windows, illuminating shapes that made your breath hitch. And then you saw him.

He stood in the middle of the hall like he had been placed there by fate itself. Ash dusted his hair, turning ginger curls grey. A cut marked his cheek, dried blood tracing his skin. His clothes were torn and scorched, shoulders slumped with exhaustion.

But he was standing.

Alive.

His eyes found you in the same second yours found him. His entire body went still, like he had stopped breathing.

“You weren’t supposed to be here,” he said, voice rough and disbelieving.

You did not answer. You ran.

He moved at the same time, meeting you halfway, arms wrapping around you so tightly it felt like he was trying to anchor you to the world. You buried your face against his chest, breathing him in, soot and sweat and something unmistakably Fred.

“I missed you,” he murmured into your hair, the words breaking. “Merlin, I missed you so much.”

You pulled back just enough to see his face. Your hands came up to cradle his cheeks, thumbs brushing over the cut like you were afraid he might vanish if you did not touch him. Your eyes searched him, every inch, every breath.

“You’re alive,” you whispered, like saying it out loud would make it real.

He gave you a shaky grin, eyes shining. “Course I am. You think I’d let some Death Eater kill me before I got to see you again?”

A laugh escaped you, half sob, half relief. You leaned in and kissed him, slow and desperate, the world falling away until there was only this. His hands tightened at your waist, forehead pressing to yours when you finally pulled back, both of you breathing hard.

Around you, Hogwarts stood broken and scarred. But in that moment, with his arms around you and his heartbeat steady beneath your palm, everything felt whole again.