Disclaimer: No copyright infringement intended; JK Rowling is the creator of the Harry Potter universe, and I'm merely living in it.

Chapter 1.

Prologue.

The Final Battle at Hogwarts

"AVADA KEDAVRA!"

Charlotte wheeled to the side just in time to miss the deadly green jet of light hurtling towards her. The sounds of battle rang in her ears and her limbs ached with exhaustion, but she pushed herself to continue and shot a curse back. Thorfinn Rowle, a Death Eater that she vaguely recognized from memory, easily dodged the poorly aimed spell and sneered at her.

"Are you getting tired, little girl?" he taunted as he sidestepped around an unconscious Death Eater that she'd taken down ten minutes before.

Frustrated and angry, she shouted, "Expelliarmus!" but Rowle blocked the spell with a flick of his wand, laughing derisively.

"You duel like a child, muckblood. Let me show you how the real wizards fight." Charlotte tried to scramble out of the way as he yelled Crucio, but she stumbled over a body she hadn't seen and gasped in agony as the curse found its mark.

Her screams filled the air as she fell to the ground, writhing uncontrollably as unbearable pain shot through her body, back arching off the floor. It felt like a hot poker was stabbing her over and over again, and in the torture, her jacket opened, giving Rowle a clear view of her stomach. He narrowed his eyes, erupting in cruel laughter, the sound tangling with her pained shrieks, before lifting the spell.

Just as quickly as it had begun, the pain receded, although tremors continued to travel through her while she struggled to catch her breath. Knowing that lying there made her completely open to get hit again, she tried to move from her place on the floor, but her legs collapsed from under her and she fell back onto her side. Rowle jeered at her attempts, pointing his wand at her and saying, "There's nowhere left to run. Your blood traitor husband isn't here to save you, and that bastard's spawn will never see the light of day."

Charlotte closed her eyes, silently apologizing for not resisting Death's grip like she should have, but the final blow never came because as Rowle formed the words to kill her, his master's voice interrupted, reverberating through Charlotte and making her toes curl instinctively.

"You have fought valiantly," the voice said. "Lord Voldemort knows how to value bravery. Yet you have sustained heavy losses. If you continue to resist me, you will all die, one by one. I do not wish this to happen."

"Every drop of magical blood spilled is a loss and a waste. Lord Voldemort is merciful. I command my forces to retreat immediately. You have one hour. Dispose of your dead with dignity. Treat your injured."

Lying there, she waited for Rowle to finish her off but, cautiously opening a single brown eye, found that he had already gone, Apparating out of Hogwarts at his Lord's command. She breathed a shaky sigh of relief at his absence until Voldemort's voice echoed through her head again.

"I speak now, Harry Potter, directly to you. You have permitted your friends to die for you rather than face me yourself. I shall wait for one hour in the Forbidden Forest." "If, at the end of that hour, you have not come to me, have not given yourself up, then battle recommences. This time, I shall enter the fray myself, Harry Potter, and I shall find you, and I shall punish every last man, woman, and child who has tried to conceal you from me. One hour."

The voice faded from her mind, and she slowly sat up, every fiber of her being screaming in protest. Using the wall as support, she regained her footing, swaying slightly as the pain blurred her vision and anxiety bubbled up in her chest. In the heat of battle, she had let go of all her worries and focused on staying alive, but without that distraction, the fear and uncertainty returned, increased tenfold.

Not once since she'd left Madame Pomfrey's side had she seen Fred or any of the Order, really, save for Tonks who deflected a Reductor curse before it could hit a distracted Charlotte. What did that mean? Did she merely miss them in the frenzy, or had a worse fate befallen them?

Bile rose in her stomach as she thought of a lifeless Fred, lying dead in an abandoned corridor somewhere, but she forced that image away, trying to stay optimistic. After all, he had promised her that he would stay safe, and George had been with him when he'd gone out to fight.

No, Fred was alive. She was sure of it.

Limping slowly down the hallway towards the Great Hall with conviction, she made sure to not trip on any stone rubble scattered from the explosions as post-Cruciatus tremors continued to wrack her body.

Shards of glass and other debris littered the ground, some walls were half blasted away, and there was what looked suspiciously like blood smeared on multiple surfaces, but Charlotte ignored it, focusing on reaching Fred so that she could discard the anxiety she still felt.

Coming to the grand doors of the Hall, she took a deep breath before pushing them open and stepping inside. Her heart was racing as her eyes glanced frantically across the room, checking the faces on gurneys and stretchers for any hint of familiarity.

Glassy, dull eyes stared back at her, unseeing, souls within already gone. The bodies had been carefully arranged side by side to maximize the space within the Hall, friends and families gathered at the sides of the fallen, tears racing down their cheeks, muddling the grime and blood already there. Her heart hurt at the pain so prevalent in the atmosphere, and she stumbled when she recognized the faces of Remus Lupin and Tonks among the dead, choking down a sob as she thought of their little Teddy already orphaned. She wanted to fall down right there and just cry, but her need to find Fred pushed back the grief and allowed her to move on.

She made it about fifteen feet before she saw the characteristic red hair that she had grown to love. Her stomach lurched. No. The family was huddled together around someone, weeping. They didn't notice her there, standing frozen across the room staring at them. She stood there idly for a minute, hoping that if she stood there long enough somehow it wouldn't be real, but Arthur saw her and beckoned her over, his eyes heartbroken and .. apologetic.

Please, God. Let it not be him.

She started walking, her pace picking up until she was running to them. They moved apart, red-faced and sniffling, to confirm her worst fears.

Fred laid there, his blue eyes still open but no longer containing the mischief and life she had come to associate with him. The corners of his mouth were turned up as if he were laughing at one last joke.

She searched the Weasley family's faces, desperate for someone to tell her that he wasn't really dead, that he was going to be okay, but no reassurance came. Molly openly weeped, Arthur embracing her as she mourned the loss of her son while the children held each other, salty tears soaking through their jumpers.

"How?" she asked, voice cracking.

George looked up from where he sat beside his fallen twin and choked out brokenly, "There was a-a wall, and he... He was standing too close, and-and it just.. Fell, and I tried t-to dig him out, but h-he was - he was.." George looked lost, unable to go on without his twin, his best friend.

The lump that had formed in Charlotte's throat grew bigger as the reality of Fred being gone, dead, truly hit her, and her legs finally gave out from under her. The tears came after. She cradled him, bundled him up in her arms, before rocking back and forth, heart-wrenching sobs echoing off the high ceilings.

Her hands touched his face, tracing the curves of his lips, trying to memorize him. Had it really been only a few hours since she'd seen him last? He was so different than she remembered. She longed to feel him hug her back, to hear his encouraging words, but all he gave her was a dead weight in her arms.

Crying even harder, she felt someone pull her from his body and hold her close, but it wasn't the same. The person rubbed her back and kept her up as her knees buckled and she wept, but their touch wasn't comforting when all she wanted was Fred.

It reminded her of the time in their Seventh Year after Fred and George had dropped out to pursue their joke shop dreams, and she had been left, alone. She'd felt like a shell of a person, then, withdrawn and disengaged towards everything but researching for her DADA project and studying for her N.E.W.T.s.

She thought about the time after graduation and remembered a meeting with Professor Dumbledore that she'd long ago forgotten. It had been a month since she'd last walked through Hogwarts, summer was in full bloom, and she hadn't expected to receive a letter requesting her presence in the Headmaster's office.

Charlotte furrowed her brows, trying to recall what they'd discussed, feeling an abrupt sense of urgency. Memories of him showing her a spell book relating to her research project filtered through her head, and while she hadn't appreciated his cryptic words or reasoning for calling a meeting with her at the time and had disregarded the whole thing, now she understood what he was trying to tell her.

He had given her a way to bring back Fred.

She staggered backwards, pulling away from the person who was holding her. George blinked back at her, alarmed at her manic expression, but she ignored him. Her mind was focused and intent on only one thing: getting to the Headmaster's office.

Kneeling beside Fred one last time, she felt fiercely determined and newfound energy coursed through her veins. "You're not leaving so soon, Fred Weasley. You're going to live, dammit, I love you," she fervently whispered before picking herself back up and taking off back towards the doors of the Great Hall, not listening as people called after her.

A/N: *Voldemort's words were taken directly from Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. All credit goes to the lovely JK Rowling.*

Edited 3/6/14 - subject to change as the story progresses.

I would like to thank my beautiful friend Vanessa for being my unofficial beta. Nothing would've gotten done without you, babe, and wouldn't be nearly as nice. Je t'aime, mon amie, et je suis très reconnaissante pour toi.

To my readers who are actually reading this note, I would just like to applaud you right now. Seriously, gold star because half the time, I don't even read the A/N. Your dedication and willingness to read a story that is probably shit in the grand scene of things is admirable, and it makes me feel all warm and bubbly with happiness.

Feedback and criticism is wanted and appreciated.