Chapter Text
Prequel
That night in the castle, in the midst of the final battle, George wept over his brother’s broken body. Horrible, strangled sobs that tore through the Great Hall and wounded all who heard them.
Hermione stood nearby, helpless. There was nothing she could do. There was no way for her to take his pain from him, just to hold it for a moment and give him time to catch his breath. Something inside her spurred her to take George into her arms, but the boy was so fractured that he didn’t react as she reached around him. Not breaking his gaze on Fred’s empty shell, he took in an agonizing, shuddering breath. When he exhaled, it came in the form of a choked, plaintive cry. His hands found her forearms around his hunched shoulders, and he gripped her like a lifeline.
And yet, in the midst of the storm of grief, they’d all seemed to have forgotten the deeper magic within the school. Something older, and far more wild than any of them could imagine. The walls of Hogwarts pulsed and thrummed with displeasure.
And if any of the witches and wizards present had known how to listen to that great, kind castle, they would’ve heard it say: “Not this boy,” deep down, rumbling in its foundations. “Not this boy that pressed his hands to my walls and studied my mysteries, not this boy who brought life and smiles to my children in the darkest of times. Not this boy who gave so much of himself. This boy’s sacrifices will not be forgotten. These children will not be so cruelly separated, and the world will be a better place for it.”
The castle’s ever-changing staircases and hallways lengthened and distorted. Time itself seemed to bend, slowing, moving backwards and forwards in a tangled river, and then there was shimmering, golden pop around Fred’s body, and breath found its way into his lungs once more.
“This is my gift,” the school’s words sang past their ears, whistling and fading into the night. Hermione blinked at the monumental shift, and something clicked inside of her, like a key being placed into a lock.
George’s sobs stilled. Fred stirred, groaning.
His eyes flickered open.
To the rest of the world, it had felt as though a warm breeze passed through the room. Like they’d forgotten what they were doing for just a moment, as the timeline shifted and groaned to accommodate the miracle. But to the children grouped around the cot, everything had changed.
Embers of that wild magic flickering in Fred’s eyes. Letting loose a fierce cry, George lunged forward, crushing his twin in his arms.
Hermione stared, happy but perplexed at the storm of magic inside of her and how it seemed to reach towards the redhead that she called her brother. The voices around her sounded distant, and her head was light. When Ron’s arms snaked around her waist, she turned, expecting the familiar tide of longing to sweep over her, but instead, darkness rushed to meet her.