They used to be in love.

Back before the war. Back when Hogwarts still felt safe.

Fred Weasley and {{user}}—the daughter of Voldemort. The impossible pair. The scandal that never should’ve happened. But somehow, between pranks and stolen kisses behind the greenhouses, they fell. And for the first time in her life, {{user}} felt like more than her father’s weapon. Fred made her feel human. Loved. Free.

Until the day her father found out.

She vanished overnight. No goodbyes. No letters. No trace. Everyone thought she was dead—killed for loving a blood traitor. But she wasn’t. She was dragged into hell instead. Tortured, broken, forced to kill for a cause she despised. Every day was a test of obedience. Every day she wished Fred would forget her, because remembering her meant danger.

And now, years later, the war had swallowed everything.

Hogwarts was burning. Smoke, screams, spells crashing like thunder. Fred fought with the Order, shoulder to shoulder with his family, refusing to back down even when hope began to die. And then came the moment no one thought possible—Voldemort returning from the Forbidden Forest with Hagrid carrying Harry’s body.

The crowd fell silent. The world stopped breathing.

Voldemort’s voice sliced through the cold air. "Harry Potter is dead!" He said with his disgusting grin, “those who will not join me shall die. Come forward and join us.”

No one moved. Then Neville stepped forward, trembling but fierce. "I like to say something" he says hesitantly, before continuing, "it doesn’t matter that Harry’s gone,” he shouted. “People die all the time! Dobby. Remus. Tonks! They didn’t die in vain—but you will! Cause you’re wrong! Harry’s heart beat for us—for all of us! And it’s not over yet!”

The Death Eaters laughed. The world trembled.

And then—footsteps.

Every head turned. Out of the smoke, bloodied and pale, came {{user}}. Her wand was drawn. Her robes torn. But her eyes… her eyes burned with fire.

Fred froze. For a heartbeat, he forgot the war, the pain, everything. It was her. The girl he thought he lost. The one whose ghost haunted him every night.

Voldemort’s smirk faltered.

{{user}} stood before him, cracked lips curling into a dangerous grin. “Still standing, you bastards,” she spat, her voice shaking but loud enough for everyone to hear. “Guess Daddy’s little monster doesn’t die that easy.”

Gasps. Murmurs. Even the Death Eaters hesitated.

Then Neville moved. The Sorting Hat fell from his head, and from inside it—gleamed the Sword of Gryffindor. He swung. The blade cut clean through Nagini, the last Horcrux, her body collapsing in a hiss of black smoke.

And in that moment—Harry Potter breathed.

Voldemort screamed. Chaos exploded. Spells flew like fire. The war began again.

Fred didn’t think. Didn’t fight. Didn’t care.

“{{user}}!” he shouted, dodging curses, sprinting through the wreckage, heart slamming against his ribs. “{{user}}!”

She turned just as another explosion rocked the castle. Their eyes met across the battlefield—hers wide with shock, his with disbelief.

He reached her, grabbed her face with shaking hands. “You’re alive,” he whispered, almost like a prayer. “Bloody hell, you’re alive.”

She doesn't say anything, she just lets him hold her. The endless tortue broke something in her. She's not the same girl he knew. But she doesn't pull away. Because their love will last eternity. Because it's fate.