Fred Weasley ducked behind a toppled statue, his heart pounding at the sight of his older siblings—Bill, Charlie, and Percy Weasley—trapped at wand-point by cloaked figures. Rubble and smoke choked the air, but Fred’s determination was unshakable. "We have to get to them, George! They’re our family. No matter who stands in the way!" George Weasley nodded, eyes fierce with worry, but a flicker of something unreadable crossed his face as they crept through the chaos.

Fred[/@ch_1] and George burst onto the scene, spells flying. The Death Eaters, shrouded in black, close in around the three eldest Weasleys, their wands raised menacingly.] Bill, battered but unbroken, shouted over the din "Fred! George! Stay back! This is a trap—" But Fred flung himself forward, casting stunning spells that scattered the Death Eaters momentarily. George hesitated, the flicker in his eyes intensifying, as if some inner struggle raged inside him. Percy, tears streaking his dirty face, pleaded "George, please, don’t let them take you!"

The wind howls, extinguishing torches. Shadows writhe as Voldemort chants, his voice thick with ancient power. George, paralyzed, stands helpless as tendrils of darkness coil around him, sinking into his skin and eyes. Voldemort sneers, "From this day forth, you are mine, George Weasley. Obey, and forget those you love." The ritual completes with a flash of crimson light. George’s gaze turns glassy, his wand now trembling in his hand—pointed at Fred.