He doesn't die instantly.

The wall collapses on him and he falls to the ground, buried. Time stops for everyone on the light side.

Fred Weasley has been hit.

The chaos of the war makes people forget friends, family, themselves — but Fred Weasley, they remember. Everyone feels it, the sudden disappearance of a personality that gave thousands hope in the darkest of times. And suddenly his brothers are at his side, trying to lift the stone off of him.

"It's my fault. I distracted him," the one with the glasses is still frozen in place. He can't do anything, he can't move.

"Help us get this bloody boulder off of him and maybe we'll forgive you," the one eared twin doesn't have time to listen to pity parties, his best mate and brother is likely dead, he just wants help.

They try to move the debris, but between their emotional states and the uproar of the battle, the boys can't do much.

"Protego! Stupify," The boys look to find their brother running towards them, not noticing the hundreds of curses being shot at him, a young woman runs after him, protecting the redhead from being cursed.

She felt the absence of Fred Weasley too.

The one-eared twin shouts desperately, "Hermione help! It's Fred, he's trapped under."

She runs over and quickly casts a protective charm around the area, shielding the small group from the chaos around, "Move you dolts, don't you know how to levitate?"

Ron, the one she followed over to the scene stands, "Right, I'll do it"

But he is stopped by the girl, "No Ron, you're far too emotional to lift such a heavy object, I'll do it. You should go find Harry, I'm worried he's up to something."

"I can't leave," Ron, red in the face bellows, "Fred's MY brother, I should be with him, Please Hermione," he begs, "I can't lose him"

"Listen Ron, it is crowded and loud and overwhelming right now. I need to someone to leave in order to feel safe levitating this boulder off Fred. George, obviously, will not leave Fred's side, and Percy, well to be honest, the boy is a graduated and brilliant wizard, we may need him," Hermione then softens her voice, "I know you care about Fred, but right now you need to make sure that Harry doesn't go and get himself killed. He needs you. I am so sorry, I swear I'll find you as soon as I can; I just need you to go" Hermione feels dreadful as she looks at the destroyed face of Ronald Weasley. But she can't worry about him now. Now, she worries for Fred.

Ron bolts off, defeated. Hermione briefly watches him shout curses at passing Death Eaters as he runs off in the distant rubble — she wonders if this will be the last time she'll see him.

George's shout brings her back to the situation, "Hermione please, hurry! We're losing him!"

She lifts her wand and whispers the well-known incantation, using all her strength to lift the heavy object. It slowly raises, she hears the one-eared twin's breath hitch — he has seen his brother. Hermione wants to look down and see him, but she has to focus on moving the boulder away from Fred. "Done," she sighs. Fred is free.

Fred is broken. His arm completely mangled, twisted at an awkward angle. His body stretched and bent in different directions. His clothes blackened and ripped. His leg is completely flattened. But his face, his humorously beautiful face, is safe — apart from a few minor scrapes.

"Fred! Fred! Mate you up? Come on wake up!" George shouts. Percy has collapsed on the rubble around, crying. "Hermione, please, is he alive?"

Hermione is frozen. Her wand-bearing arm hanging defeated at her side. Her body shaking, please let him be alive, she thinks. He has to still be alive. She comes down and kneels by his face. She places two fingers at his neck, searching for a pulse. She bends down to his ear and whispers, "Please Fred, please be alive."

Then she feels it, softly, almost extinct, but there. He's alive.

On Mondays his parents come shuffling in. One of them is always crying, the other comforts — it changes each time. His mother kisses him on the head and whispers quiet prayers for his return to health. His father sits and grasps his lifeless hand, squeezing tightly; he hopes that one day his son will squeeze back. They leave a four-leaf clover at his bedside each time, and walk out without looking back.

On Tuesdays his older brothers silently fill the small hospital room. The never say anything. All of them feel guilty somehow, but the youngest of the three is the worst off. It should have been me, he thinks. They never stay for long, they just sit and hope for a miracle and when they are done, they leave, again in silence.

On Wednesdays, visitors are not allowed. Every half hour, a healer comes in to check his vitals. One healer in particular has taken an interest in this war hero with the vibrant orange hair and caring family. The healer is old, she lost her own granddaughter in the battle, she has no one left. Instead, she cares for him. On Wednesdays she brings fresh flowers and opens the curtains to reveal the outside. She sings songs to him that her own mother sang to her and she cries for her comatose patient.

On Thursdays his younger brother and sister come in, a young man with messy black hair and green eyes come with them. The sister either in the arms of this wizard or her redhead brother. The scarred young soldiers stare at their injured brother and friend. Ron stares down at his broken brother as Harry sets a mysterious folded piece of parchment down at his bedside.

It is Friday, and she finally comes into the quiet hospital wing. She doesn't give him pieces of parchment or four-leaf clovers — instead she talks, "Hi Fred, Hermione here. It's been a month since you've been asleep. Four weeks, yeah it's been a while. Everyone else has been here weekly, everyone else except George. He's struggling with the idea of you not making it. Of course you will make it, I know you will, but he's a mess without you."

She takes a breath before continuing, "I miss you. I didn't realize I would miss you as much as I do. Earlier today, I went to a meeting for 'post-war rehabilitation'. I was supposed to give a presentation about past methods muggle societies have used after big wars. The bloody Minister, Professor McGonagall, your parents, and everyone else of any importance in the Wizarding World were all there. I went up to the front of the room, and my mind just blanked. Completely. I don't know what happened, it was like everything I had prepared had been erased. Considering my reputation, it wouldn't surprise you to know that something like that has never happened to me. I feel broken Fred."

She sits there for two hours before standing out and strutting away from the motionless body. Her pace quickens gradually until she is running down the cobbled streets of the ruined Diagon Alley. She runs even when she makes it out onto the streets of Muggle London, she runs until she can't run anymore.

A day later, she sits on a plush chair in front of a Therapist, a squib who is aware of the wizarding war and willing to help victims of war. She doesn't want to be there, but she is afraid of herself.

They don't talk about much. Hermione is guarded and refuses to share much information. It is a difficult hour and by the end of the session Hermione feels somewhat defeated.

"Will I be seeing next week?"

"No, I'm sorry. This was a mistake. I should go."

She runs out again, then apparates to a house to meet her friends. They don't expect her, but Harry and the rest of the Weasleys welcome her. She sits in the kitchen of 12 Grimmauld place and cries in the arms of her best friends. No one is prepared for her outburst. They sit there stunned, not sure what to do, or say. Harry is the first one hold her in his arms, suddenly everyone is surrounding her, hugging her — crying.

She visits Fred everyday after that.