Dawn had not yet reached the cellar of the Burrow, only faint grey light seeping through the cracks. George Weasley sat awake, gripped not by dreams, but by a heavy, suffocating silence. He clutched a yellowed map marked with a scarlet dot: Night Owl’s Secret Shop.

Fred lay on a blanket at his feet, his breathing steady but unnaturally cold. George stared at his brother’s face—once bright with pranks, now pale and strange. His touch was icy, leaving George wondering if the real Fred had truly returned.

“You’re staring again,” Fred mumbled, waking. His palm bore a faint, purple-glowing crack, as if something lived beneath his skin.

George forced a smile. “The rift’s growing. You’re being drained by something not of this world.”

Fred knew it too. He dreamed of a silent, grey wasteland where shadowy figures whispered to him.

“We’re going to Knockturn Alley,” George declared. “Night Owl has the Book of Echoes of the Dead, the only full record of blood summoning.”

Fred hesitated. “It’s dangerous. And… do I want to know how I came back?”

“I can’t lose you again,” George said. “We’re twins. Two halves of one soul.”

Fred agreed. They Apparated to Knockturn Alley, a narrow, menacing street filled with dark magic. An old witch named Nana Rona blocked them, recognizing Fred as something returned from death. George stunned her, and they fled into Night Owl’s Secret Shop.

Inside, shelves were lined with cursed books and dark artefacts. A hooded figure with one blood-red eye sat behind a bone-chair: Night Owl.

“You seek the truth of blood summoning,” he rasped. “It is not mere magic—it is a tear in the law. Twin souls, linked so deeply, can rip open the veil when one grieves beyond endurance. You dragged him back, not truly revived, but stolen from death.”

He tossed them a charred book. Its words writhed:

*Twin souls, one beat,

Grief as key, blood as pact,

Rift opens, dead return,

Balance breaks, disaster comes.

Night Owl revealed he had once been a Keeper of the Veil， destroyed when he tried to save his own sister the same way. Fred was no mere resurrection—he was a living wound in reality. The rift was spreading, agitating ghosts, twisting magic, and threatening the whole wizarding world.

But Night Owl offered hope: a crystal vial holding a Fragment of the Thought Sea, from the Department of Mysteries’ deepest chamber, where life and death were thinnest. There, Fred might recover his lost memories and seal the rift.

Suddenly, cursed books erupted into black butterflies. Fred’s power flared, freezing the shop in ice. Night Owl vanished into shadow, warning: The Keepers will not stand by. Go to the Thought Sea.

The shop collapsed. George and Fred Apparated back to the Burrow, where Harry, Hermione and Ron waited.

Hermione had recognised Night Owl’s symbol: the mark of the Keepers of the Veil. The Ministry was hunting whoever caused the magic explosion in Knockturn Alley, unaware it was them.

Fred’s power was growing unstable, endangering his family. He insisted on fixing the rift.

“The Thought Sea is in the Department of Mysteries,” George said. “To enter, we need the Thought Key—the original relic the Deathly Hallows were broken from.”

Harry held out the Resurrection Stone. Words glowed on its surface:

The rift is the key, your heart the lock.

To end this doom, you must reach the Thought Sea.

Molly begged Fred not to leave, but he knew he had no choice. If the rift was not sealed, the entire magical world would fall.

George stood beside him. “You’re my brother. Where you go, I go.”

Outside, a scarlet lightning bolt split the sky. Far away, a faint, misty tear was opening in the horizon—a wound in the world, still growing.

The desperate quest to mend the rift had only just begun.