Chapter Text
BOOM!
You narrowly dodged the decapitated head of some 20 ft. statue, evading rubble and debris that flew past you. All around you, young witches and wizards battled against Death Eaters twice their age. Childrens’ and adults’ and the elderly’s bodies were strewn lifelessly across Hogwarts, orphaned wands littering the cracked floors.
Please, let me get there in time. Please, please, please. Please, let me get to him.
Your heart was pumping like a steam engine as your feet stamped furiously against the school’s marbled floors. Your body was used to this; running for your life. . . literally. You had grown up with it, known it, experienced time and time again. But it never got any easier, any less painful, any less terrifying. It was like you spent your whole life running.
Which . . . I have, pretty much.
You sucked ass at apparating and didn’t feel comfortable especially now in the chaos -- despite all these years of careful observation, you melancholically thought to yourself. He’s the best at apparating, always has been, but if I can’t get there in time--
“-- Avada Kedav --!!”
“ STUPIFY !!” you twisted your arm behind you just before the masked Death Eater could finish their curse, your feet stuttering for only a moment to see if their body hit the floor. A girl whipped her head around to look at you, puzzled, eyes wide; you recognized her as that one girl from Ravenclaw, the one you had seen throughout your time at Hogwarts, that kind girl that had been miserable the past few years. Cho Chang.
“Wait-- you’re --” her arm relaxed for a moment, staring at you as if you had just grown horns. “--You can talk . . . ?”
“ Move !!” you shoved her out of the way as a snatcher came out of nowhere; with a flick of your wand, you sent the man flying, smashing through a wall a good thirty feet away. “Keep moving !”
You helped her steady her wand, but the look of bewilderment didn’t leave her as she stared at your figure as you ran away.
“ Wait !” Cho called after you, but your legs didn’t stop moving, her voice lost in the roars of battle. “You’re American. . . ? ”
Focus. Focus. Seventh floor. Seventh floor.
You had always hated Hogwart’s stupidly inefficient winding stairs, and this time was no different -- you struggled to stay on the enchanted staircases as the whole castle shook, some having already been destroyed in the fray. Yet, soon enough, you were there.
Seventh-floor corridor. Focus. Hurry.
It always felt like your feet never could run fast at times like this; like your legs just couldn’t keep up with the unforgiving pace your mind desired to set for your body. But now you forced your body to listen to you, to bend to your resolve that had been engraved in your soul for the past ten years.
This is it. This is what I’ve been preparing for. It’s time. I have to do it.
I’m the only one who can do it.
The sound of your footsteps echoed across the hallway, piercing through the noise of battle. At the end of the corridor, your eyes easily latched onto two heads of fiery-red hair. Fred. Percy. They’re back to back, swinging spells left and right as Death Eaters come at them from all angles.
You’ve seen this scene a million times. You’ve memorized every single face, every single movement, every single spell cast within the next sixty seconds.
Fred Weasley. The world fell away as you drank in the sight of freckles and fire-like hair, hair so bright and loud it could be spotted from a mile away. You took in the gaze of deep chocolate brown eyes accented by smile lines from countless pranks and endless laughter, happiness that has seeped into your own and helped you remember the joy when joy was only a distant memory. A sharp nose, a tall muscled figure, and an easygoing attitude made him the heart and soul of every party. Parties, of course, that you had never once attended, let alone been invited. Pranks that you were never a victim too-- since after all -- I shouldn’t have been at Hogwarts in the first place.
It’s a bit too late for qualms about changing fate, though. You’ve spent this long changing it, corrupting it, selfishly bending it to your own will. There’s no going back now.
This is it, Fred.
You held fast to your wand and took a deep breath.
And I’m ready now.
You took a step forward as you watched the Death Eaters drop or fall back one by one, but as Percy was holding a couple to his right, a mop of greasy brown hair advanced on the younger Weasley, trapping him into the corner.
Augustus Rockwood. The face that had been haunting your visions since you were nine; he was the only power in this world that could take your happiness away. That could take Fred away; and now, as you saw the Death Eater looming over the cowering man, everything fell into the exact place of your nightmares.
Percy looked over his shoulder in horror as he knew what was about to happen.
“ Fred-- !!” he screamed, but it was too late, Fred’s wand already sparking out of his hand as Rockwood flung his arm back to cast one final lethal spell.
You felt your feet move, and suddenly, you were running . . . but for the first time, you were chasing something.
Frederick Gideon Weasley.
Thanks. . . for. . . for everything, Fred.
For the first time, you were free.
Ka-BOOM!
A massive ball of fire erupted in the middle of the corridor, sending allies and foes alike flying through the air. The explosion shook the entire floor, giant gunks of rubble falling from above and smashing through the floor. Percy, in his unbelievable luck, was not majorly harmed and was able to get onto both feet; but his heart dropped as he saw the pile of debris where his brother once was.
Nearby, Rockwood lay groaning on the floor, bleeding out for his own karma; Percy cast a spell for good measure, making the Death Eater’s limbs splash limply in the puddle of his own blood.
“Fr-Fred? Fred. . .? ” Percy got on his hands and knees as he carefully pulled away at the rocks, eyes going watery. “C’mon, Fred, c’mon. . . ! ”
“. . . Per. . . “ a quiet groan, smaller than a whisper, could be heard through the rocks. “. . . Percy. . . ”
“ Fred !!” the elder Weasley became frantic as he cleared through the debris, using his wand to help him lift away the larger chunks; finally, he pulled away enough to reveal the center, although what he saw both somehow broke his heart and . . confused him.
A flickering dome of magic, your smaller figure straddling his younger brother’s body, her back facing him, as you held the huge boulders and rubble above you both with trembling arms. Percy saw blood everywhere, pooling around the two but looking at Fred’s face, he didn’t seem to be in any pain; in fact, he seemed completely frozen as he stared directly at your face that was still unknown from his own view. His lively little brother looked like a statue, but with the rise and fall of his chest, he knew for certain that he was alive.
“. . . Please, h-hurry. . . !” your arms trembled as the dome keeping the debris at bay began to flicker more and more, Percy shaking himself out of his shock and continuing to help pull the chunks of marble and concrete away. When the last giant piece was lifted off, you let your arms fall as small pebbles fell around you like soft snow; you let out a breath and smiled -- a huge toothy grin, wider and more sincere than any smile you’ve smiled before.
“. . . You . . .” Fred was still expressionless as he stared up at you, unblinking. “. . . I . . . I know you. . .” his mouth kept moving, and you could feel the rumbling of his voice through his chest, but your ringing ears could not follow the words.
In front of you was the man of your dreams. This close, you could make out every individual freckle, scattered across his cheeks like stars. You could see the minute strands of hair that broke up his copper hairline, as well as the gorgeous flush of his cheeks that made him the most handsome rosy shade; and in his eyes, you saw eternity -- the eternity of happiness that you’ve been looking for all these years.
“You’re okay. . . ?” you raised a hand to his cheek, not even noticing how they were soaked in blood or trembling like a dead autumn leaf about to break. You looked him over, hands roaming over his shoulder and chest, and not finding a single scratch. But where’s all this blood coming from? “You’re. . . okay . . . “ you sighed with a laugh.
Well, I guess it doesn’t matter.
I did it.
The corners of your vision began to blacken as white spots blotched your vision, the noises of the ongoing battle surrounding you becoming muffled and quiet.
I saved him.
The world began to shift as you felt your body began to fall, feeling your back land on the floor as your gaze shifted to the destroyed ceilings. Then, Fred -- hovering over you and yelling something. There was this feeling around your body, too; like something was shaking you, as if someone’s hand was caressing your cheek. But, then again, you can only vaguely remember how that felt at all in the first place. I must be imagining it.
Lazily, you titled your head a bit forward to look down at your body. A long spear of black iron from a fallen piece of some framework had pierced you -- right through your chest. The tip gleamed crimson.
Wow. And I’m still alive from that? You laughed silently as you let your head back down. That’s cool I guess.
Fred didn’t seem to share your mood as his eyes were scrunched up above his enflamed eyes, his mouth still spitting some words that you couldn’t make out. You had only seen his face like this on rare occasions -- when Gryffindor lost a quidditch match, anything to do with Dolores Umbridge, fights with George, and that one nasty breakup he had with Angelina Johnson.
His whole face was beet red, and there was something wet plopping down on your cheeks from his eyes.
Tears? Are you crying for me, Fred?
“Don’t . . . cry. . .” you gurgled out the words as hot metallic-tasting liquid filled your throat. You wanted to wipe the tears away from his face, but only managed to twitch a few of your fingers. “. . . P--. . . lea-. . . ease . . . do-- . . . o-n’t. . . cr--. . .y. . “
Perhaps in your garbled gibberish, he managed to understand; Fred’s wrinkles softened and you could make out the clear brown pools of his irises, see the soft unfiltered shape of his lips. You could feel the sun’s warmth peaking through the cracks from up above, the dawn of the new day. Even though he was covered in blood and dirt and spit and grime, the light shined down and framed him like he was glowing, like he was an angel sent from heaven itself.
Thank you, Fred.
“. . . Th. . . nk. . .”
But that was all that could escape your mouth as your eyes finally shut, the image and feeling of Fred Weasley all around you -- the only comfort you took with you as you entered a peaceful darkness.