Hoshi no Hikari

Jedi Goat

Disclaimer – I don't own Harry Potter or a certain anime...

Special Thanks - to Dancing Roses and Sunny Rain, my awesome beta!

Author's Note - I'm baaack! The plot bunnies were stalking me, so I gave in and started on another Weasley twin epic. For those of you familiar with In George's Eyes, I cut George some slack and went after Fred this time. ;) This story, as stated above, is a crossover with a certain anime that I can't reveal at the moment, as it'll spoil the surprise. ;) But if you think you've caught the hints in this chapter, by all means, let me know your guesses! If you're not familiar with the anime, no worries, if anything it'll make the story more of a supernatural mystery... :D

Also, the above title means "Light of the Stars".

Enjoy!

Prologue

A sudden ruby blast - as vibrant and swift as a firecracker - seared across the black sky. For a second the spell work hung menacingly, a garish wound in the darkness, before dissipating with a booming echo of its passing. Scattered screams split the air; but just as quickly they, too, were silenced, dragged back beneath the heavy shroud of ominous night.

Arthur Weasley pushed open the downstairs window to investigate the cacophony that had abruptly awakened him. Fumbling, he found his spectacles in the dark, and with them slightly askew on his nose, he peered out into the pitch-black night. Telltale flickers of light on the horizon warned him, with an all-too-familiar rigid tightening of his stomach, of the approaching wizards.

A shadow shifted behind him, and in an instant, his wife was beside him, her wand readied. Molly Weasley's typically warm and rounded face had creased with tension. "What is it, Arthur? Have - have they come back?"

"It can't be," he murmured, leaning out into the night. The slightest cool breeze weathered a face that had become far too thin and haggard recently. "It's been nearly two years now. Everyone that's left has been long locked up in Azkaban."

"That doesn't mean we're safe," she pressed on fiercely. "Who knows how many went into hiding when You-Know-Who fell? They have ways of knowing who worked against him." Arthur glanced at the sudden zealous light in her eyes, the tenseness of her jaw. Her fervor, he knew, was in the defense of their seven children - the youngest of whom, Ginny, was but a few weeks old. Recognizing her strength, he nodded, resigning himself to the emergency procedure they had laid in place during You-Know-Who's rise.

"I'll contact the Order - hopefully some of them know what the hell's going on. Gather the kids, but don't panic them. We can't move them out of here until we find out what's happening," he concluded. At her decisive nod, he retrieved his wand and hurriedly made for the fireplace. He reawakened the roaring flames with a quick flick of his wand, then tossing a handful of green powder into the blaze.

Praying that her husband could find the assistance they desperately needed, Molly scurried from the room. She took the stairs two at a time, forcing herself to restrain her pace as she neared the first of the upstairs chambers. She paused on the landing a moment, illuminated wand raised, to listen: only tense silence echoed back, the distant banging of the ghoul in the attic at the back of her mind. Taking a slow breath, she entered the first room.

Her wand's glow cast a gentle light over a worn crib, the mobile of mystical creatures overhead winking reflections back at her. Molly exhaled a long sigh of relief at the sight of her only daughter sleeping peacefully, a pink security blanket clamped in one tiny fist. Humming a lullaby to soothe the girl as she awakened, Molly gently hoisted Ginny and balanced her against her side, moving to the second crib. Two-year-old Ron rubbed his eye sleepily in the wand glow, holding tight to his tufty teddy bear.

"Come on, Ron," she whispered, taking him up in her other arm.

The two in tow, she now hurried upstairs, knocking on the next door. A moment's pause, and Percy, tousle-haired and pushing his glasses up on his nose, appeared in the doorway. "I heard a noise outside," he reported, correctly guessing the reason for her late-night interruption.

"It's all right," Molly reassured the precocious child. "Your father is looking into it now."

Percy glanced to Ron, who was already drifting off again, and Ginny, who chewed happily on the frills of her mother's nightgown. "Should I wake up my brothers?"

"Yes, of course. But do stay close to me." She didn't want to terrify him - it was enough trouble keeping her growing apprehension at bay - but they needed to move quickly. If there was truly a danger outside, Molly proclaimed fiercely, they would have to get through her before laying a hand on any one of her children.

Percy nodded obediently, leading the way up the stairs, though he was careful to remain within the dancing circle of light cast by his mother's wand. Pausing on the next landing, he pushed open the door and waited for Molly to proceed first. She entered, the warmth of her wand glancing off two beds on opposite walls, their messy-haired occupants tangled in blankets. At her silent signal, they were already fighting to get up, blinking sleepily.

"Mum, what's the big deal?" groaned the younger boy on the left, stifling a yawn.

"Yeah, it's way past midnight," put in his older brother, running a hand through his shoulder-length fiery hair.

"Bill, Charlie," she reprimanded them shortly; "let's go." Groaning, they complied and joined her in the doorway, eleven-year-old Bill stowing his wand in his back pocket. Molly handed off Ron to a yawning Charlie to free her wand hand; with a gesturing flick, she then led the subdued troop out onto the landing.

"Everyone, downstairs to the fireplace. You know what to do." She directed her commanding gaze at Bill, the oldest, who nodded in recognition of the responsibility she awarded him. Molly turned away - "I'll find the twins. Now, hurry, and quietly."

The boys started down the stairs, bare feet tromping on the creaky steps. Without a glance back, and another soft melody to pacify Ginny, who grew restless again, she hurried up the rickety stairwell. Molly had to keep a steady hand on the rail; the last additions to their tall house were the least stable, the steps groaning under her feet and the echoing noises of the ghoul's antics growing louder with each step she took. The atmosphere seemed almost colder as she rose higher; there were drafts in the walls, and she tugged her nightgown tighter around her and her daughter as she hustled onward.

Molly burst out on the top landing, panting slightly, and knocked loudly on the final door. She listened a moment, hearing nothing over the cackles and clatters overhead. With patience waning, she flung open the door and swept the room with the glow of her wand. The bed by the window - George's, on most nights - lay empty. Her heart pounding with foreboding, she turned toward the other corner of the room.

There were two lumps in Fred's bed. With the faintest sigh of relief, she marched over to the bed, shaking the shoulder of the nearest twin. They had both burrowed their heads beneath the pillow to block out the ghoul's racket; now one tousled red head emerged.

"Mum, the ghoul's too loud-"

"It's all right, Fred, we'll deal with him later. Everyone else is downstairs. Come now." She took the five-year-old's hand even as he mumbled, disgruntled, "I'm George, Mum."

Molly was distracted as Ginny let out a wail, adding to the incessant noise. "Shhh now, hush little Ginny don't you cry-"

"Mum, do we really hafta go to the old cat lady's house again? It smelled like cabbage," the twin complained, folding his arms.

"Now, nobody said anything about that. Just wake George and hurry downstairs," she informed him with difficulty over Ginny's growing screams. Struggling to hold the thrashing child, she backed out the door. "Hush, now," she continued to her daughter, adopting a more soothing tone. "It's just a ghoul. Nothing bad is going to happen, Mommy's here." Her heart pounding, she glanced over her shoulder; Molly prayed her words were true. She saw the twin bending over his brother's bed and turned away, humming as she brought Ginny down to the lower levels of the house.

When she met up with the others in the living room, she was quick to hand out reassurance where she could: ruffling Charlie's hair, who jolted to wakefulness with a start; smiling to Percy, who dutifully shadowed his older brothers; and kissing Ron's forehead as he slumbered on. Stepping back then, she looked to her husband as he finally stepped away from the fireplace. Green flames flickered and died away, to be replaced by the normal orange-red hearth.

His deathly pale face shattered her last, desperate hopes.

"What is it?" she barely dared whisper, for a moment forgetting the five younger ones looking on in confusion. Her wand shook in her clenched fist; Ginny was, for once, perfectly subdued.

Arthur's lips moved but no sound came out; finally, he shook his head and murmured, "It's Dementors, Molly."

"Dementors?" Charlie interrupted. "What's-?"

Bill intercepted his query with zeal. "They're creatures of the night. Dark, heartless. Wherever they go, they suck the whole life out of the place - leaving a chill worse than death. And then," he advanced on his brother, his voice lowering to a bare whisper, "they suck out your soul."

Percy let out a small squeak at this horrifying revelation; Charlie's eyes widened.

"They're the prison guards at Azkaban," Arthur concluded with a halfhearted warning glance at Bill; the eleven-year-old shrugged innocently. Troubled, he turned back to his wife: "They've revolted, Molly, no one's sure why... Wizards are already tracking them down as we speak, and the Order's mobilized to help."

"What of the Death Eaters they were guarding?" Molly breathed, clutching Ginny close to her breast.

"Contained and accounted for. For good, we hope. Molly, we've got to move... Reinforcements are coming, but I don't know how soon they'll arrive."

She nodded, recognizing the resolution in his tone. "Right, Bill, Charlie, you know what to do..."

"Where're Fred and George?" piped up Charlie, breaking away from the hand she placed on his shoulder.

Molly glanced around the shadowy room in sudden alarm, realizing two small figures were missing. "They must still be upstairs!" As she urgently made for the stairs, Arthur grabbed her arm.

"There isn't enough time-!"

A red blur flashed in the corner of his eye, and he turned to see Charlie sprinting up the stairwell.

"Charlie-!"

"He knows what he's doing," Bill said firmly, taking hold of Molly's other arm.

She shook her head, a violent fervor in her eyes. "My sons are upstairs!"

"Molly..."

A sudden hush fell over the room; an icy cold had seeped into the air, surrounding them. Arthur's chest tightened as he glanced around wildly; Ron and Ginny were in fits of tears, and Percy stood alone, frozen, his face a pale mask of terror. A thick layer of frost had built up on the windows, even as it was a previously warm summer evening. His heart pounding, Arthur whirled around.

"Molly! Get the kids to the safe house, now!" Even as he spoke, he pushed Bill toward the fireplace. The eldest threw a fistful of floo powder into the embers, repeated the memorized address, and held out his hand for Percy as his other clasped Ron tight to his chest. In mere moments the four children disappeared in a rush of green flames.

"I can't leave you here alone - or the boys -" Molly argued.

Arthur shook his head gently, his face eased in sudden tenderness as he bent to kiss her cheek. "You've done enough." Then, straightening, he resumed his mask: "I promise I'll protect them. Now go."

Molly bit her lip wordlessly, taking one long last look at him before she stepped into the flames. Ginny stretched out her arms to his retreating figure in confusion.

Abruptly the front door blew apart in wooden shards, a blistering wind howling through the exposed gap; Arthur whirled toward it, wand outstretched. "Expecto Patronum!"

Then, in a whirl of green flames, he disappeared from her view.

(-)

The door burst open beneath his burly shove, and Charlie wildly scanned the bedroom. "What are you idiots doing?" the ten-year-old gasped out upon sighting his younger brothers still huddled in bed; he nearly had to yell over the noise of the ghoul overhead.

George glanced up at him; he was perched beside his sleeping brother, and, Charlie noted in sudden puzzlement, his pale face was strangely blank.

"Hey...what's wrong?" Charlie approached the bed, tone easing to concern. Since Bill had left for Hogwarts a year ago, Charlie had grown closest to the twins out of his siblings. He knew their quirks better than perhaps their own parents did; and George's current expression, devoid of his usual energy and curiosity, twisted his stomach with strange terror.

"Fred won't wake up."

George's voice shook, and in it, Charlie recognized the bewilderment, a desperate plea for help. He sighed and bent beside his younger brother.

"It's a wonder he can sleep at all with all that racket." The ironic twist of his lips couldn't shake the growing dread knotting in his stomach. Charlie's hand brushed the younger boy's forehead and in an instant he withdrew, eyes widening.

Fred's skin was ice.

The knot in his stomach painfully twisting further, Charlie looked from the still figure of one twin to the equally pale one at his side. George was watching him. Charlie swallowed with difficulty; tendrils of cold had seeped into his skin, making it hard to move, to think.

"I-"

A blast of cold air hit his back; acting solely on instinct, Charlie unthinkingly dove across the bed, with one hand grasping George and pulling him tight to his chest. Shielding both the twins with his body, he glanced over and felt his body turn to ice.

Where their window used to be was nothing more than a gaping black hole, jaggedly lined with glass; shards spilled across half the chamber, littering the opposite bed. How easily that could have been them, pierced by those daggers that now tore apart blankets and ruptured a feathered pillow...

Charlie forced the thought aside. His eyes were locked on the beast in the window - if the fiend could even be called that.

A deep black hood shrouded its face; it cascaded downward in extensive folds to long sleeves, and near the floor, ending in a torn seam that drifted in a nonexistent breeze. The demon floated forward, ghostlike; it had no semblance of feet. A skeletal hand hooked toward them beneath its tattered sleeve, its beckoning skin gray and rotting off the gnarled bones. A wave of pungent smell hit him; Charlie nearly gagged on it, forcing himself to keep looking at the beast. In his mind, he heard the echoes of his father's voice.

Dementors... It's Dementors, Molly...

The demon took a long rattling breath - he could nearly feel it, he reflected wildly, the way it inhaled the very life from the room. George was motionless against his chest and he held him tighter, heart pounding, praying.

Not two... I won't lose both of them...

The Dementor extended its dead hand, nearing them. With each breath it took, Charlie began to feel faint; his head was buzzing, his vision swaying. Frost tingled his limbs, lulling him to give in to the cold embrace slowly tightening around his chest. He drew a shuddering, difficult breath, fighting to resist the monster's cold wrath.

"I...won't... I won't let you take them!"

Reaching blindly sideways, he felt for the lamp beside the bed. His fingers closed around cold metal and, without thinking, he flung it. Glass shards exploded against the Dementor's chest and it paused a moment in its course, its sightless hood twisting from side to side. Its invisible gaze locked with Charlie's; a chill went down his spine as the Dementor soundlessly reached for him, spiny hands groping the air.

It was nearing... Seconds slowed down as the irate Dementor moved in to feed on its prey. Charlie shut his eyes at the last instant, already feeling the icy prick of the Dementor's claws closing in on his skin.

"Expecto Patronum!"

A sudden bright flash of light illuminated the room; surprised, Charlie glanced up, and recognized the intrusion as a weasel charging headlong at the Dementor. An unearthly shriek split the air as the dark demon fell back; the spectral weasel, pulsating with light, moved in pursuit. In a whirl of black cloth, the fiend fled from the chamber.

Sudden warmth flooded back into his body, and Charlie managed to sit up. There was a pounding of footsteps and Arthur, panting, appeared in the doorway.

"Dad!"

"Charlie, Fred, George, are you all right?" Arthur advanced, wearily adjusting his glasses, but his eyes were sharp as he glanced over the three of them. "Did it hurt you?"

Charlie shook his head; his heart was still thundering from the rush of adrenaline from their encounter. The image of the Dementor standing over them haunted his consciousness. Without their father's intervention...they'd surely all be dead by now.

With that, his eyes fell on Fred, who still hadn't moved. His throat went dry, all his relief suddenly evaporated. George pulled away from his arms to crawl near his unmoving twin, soundlessly curling next to him.

"Dad," Charlie said, very quietly. He didn't know what else to say.

Arthur said nothing either, the color slowly draining from his face as he caught sight of the twins. "What happened?"

Charlie only shook his head. George was staring at Fred, as unmoving and as pale as his twin.

A stair creaked outside and as one Arthur and Charlie whirled toward the doorway, tense. A tall man stood there, his long beard glinting silver in the moonlight visible through the shattered window. Charlie drew a sharp intake of breath as hope flooded his veins; at once he recognized the proud figure of Albus Dumbledore, headmaster of Hogwarts and a powerful wizard renowned worldwide.

"Albus." Arthur stepped toward him. "It's my son, please-"

Dumbledore nodded, his eyes benevolent but somber as he strode into the room. Long purple robes billowed about him; Charlie subconsciously stepped aside to allow him to observe the twins.

As he did so, he felt a strange chill in his left side - as if the Dementor had brushed by. He glanced sideways, but saw nothing; nearby the two adults were poring over the bed.

"George," Arthur murmured, laying a hand on his son's shoulder. "You should go downstairs and see your mother - she's worried about all of you."

"No. Not until Fred's awake."

"George, he's not going to wake up," he said as gently as he could.

"No! He's gonna wake up, he's gonna." Stubbornly George remained glued to his twin's side, forehead touched to Fred's own cold front.

Arthur sighed heavily; suddenly he looked much older. "I'm sorry." He reached down, picking him up.

George screamed.

And then Fred opened his eyes.

Arthur didn't notice at first, preoccupied with the thrashing twin in his arms. Unhindered, Charlie ran to the bed.

"Fred!"

"Morning, Charlie," Fred mumbled around a yawn, rubbing his eyes. In an instant the color was back in his face as he grinned at his older brother, "I had this great dream I was banging on stuff upstairs, louder than even the ghoul!"

"F-Fred?" sniffed George, rubbing his nose on his sleeve.

"Huh? What's wrong, George?" Concern suddenly creasing his face, Fred sat up, taking in the scene wide-eyed: the broken window, the fear melting into relief in the others' expressions. His stare returned almost instantly to his twin, who hastily scrubbed tears from his face.

"Fred, you're all right?" Arthur asked in a voice mixed with relief and amazement. The fuss was all too confusing for a boy who had been simply asleep; Fred glanced quizzically to his twin for information. But George, smiling, could do nothing but wriggle out of his father's slackened grip and hug him.

"I knewed you'd wake up," he mumbled into his shirt.

Arthur glanced to Dumbledore, wondering if the older wizard had anything to do with this. Dumbledore, however, regarded the scene with nothing more than a thoughtful smile.

While the other Weasleys breathed a long sigh of relief, Fred glanced around the room, eyes wide. "What happened in here?"

Charlie shook his head, allowing a laugh. "I suppose you were making too much noise in your dream to notice, huh?"

Fred considered this, then grinned in sheepish agreement. "Prolly..."

In the joyful aftermath of the near-attack on the Burrow, there was much hugging and tears as the family reunited. He couldn't be blamed if Arthur neglected to mention Fred's strange behavior to Molly; as it was, it slipped his mind in the relief to see his family together once more unscathed.

To be continued...

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