In the depths of the Burrow’s cellar, candlelight flickered in the cold wind, nearly snuffed out by an invisible chill, crackling softly. Damp stone walls wept silent tears, and the air smelled of mold, dust, and faint iron—traces of oversurge magic. George floated three inches off the ground, surrounded by faint gold-red light, his eyes closed, brows furrowed, as if wrestling an unseen force.

Runes poured from his palm, coiling into an ancient array, pressing down on a small crack oozing gray mist—whispers of the dead lingering within. Suddenly, the cellar shook, bricks crumbling. Black fog surged, and dozens of gray-robed figures burst in—false Keepers, puppets of the Cult of the Immortal, their eyes burning blue, chains hissing toward George.

“George, snap out of it!” Hermione cried. Her Book of the Dead: Fragment trembled, black smoke seeping, forming blood-red words: “Blood oath backfires, soul bond will break.”

“It’s blood oath backlash!” Hermione shouted. “Your soul is being torn apart! You’ll disappear if you keep this up!”

Harry held up the Resurrection Stone, silver light forming a barrier. “The cult is controlling these puppets! They want to widen the rift!”

Battle erupted. False Keepers howled, weaving a net of blue chains inscribed with “immortality.” George’s golden light exploded, a fire that froze rather than burned, reducing their robes and scepters to ash. “Twin Fire… Burn the false dead!” he whispered, his voice echoing as if two spoke at once.

“George, stop!” Ron rushed forward, binding spells flying. But George turned, golden light slashing toward him. Harry tackled Ron, the Stone blocking the blow. Hermione staggered, blood dripping onto her book, absorbed into a new rune.

“Take Ron inside!” Hermione said, drawing a black obsidian wand. “I’ll hold them off with George!”

Harry looked up—dark clouds loomed, green light flickering: the zombie horde had arrived. “Expecto Patronum!” A silver stag leaped, but was swallowed by the clouds. “It’s useless… their dark magic corrupted the Patronus,” Hermione whispered.

Harry raised the Stone, chanting an ancient forbidden spell. Silver light exploded into a net, trapping zombies. But a green Killing Curse shot toward George’s back. He turned, golden light colliding with it, blowing apart the cellar. His figure merged with Fred’s spirit, false Keepers dissolving into smoke.

“I swear by blood to guard the Weasley name!” George roared, his voice overlapping with Fred’s. Golden-red light shot through the roof, driving back zombies. “Go! I’ll hold them!”

Harry cast “Fissura!” A rift opened. “We’ll come back,” he said, dragging Hermione and Ron down, the rift closing behind them.

In the Department of Mysteries’ Time Chamber, they fell hard. Hermione coughed up blackened blood. “Will George hold on?” Ron asked.

Harry stared at the cracked Resurrection Stone. Dumbledore’s words echoed: it only shows shadows of the dead, but George tore the law to pull Fred back.

“Hermione, will the backlash devour him?” Harry asked.

Hermione nodded, pointing to her book: a picture of twins at the life-death boundary. “Twin Fire burns the false dead, but burns itself to ashes.” “Their souls were meant to separate. Binding them breaks the law.”

“What can we do?” Ron trembled.

“We find the cult’s leader,” Harry said firmly.

The Stone, blood words appearing: “Golden seal unbroken, smile still remains, midnight three quarters, soul seal returns.”

“Midnight three quarters—two hours left,” Ron said, checking the clock.

Hermione’s book revealed new words: “The soul seal’s return is not resurrection, but rift reopens. If the golden seal fades, Twin Fire will vanish forever.”

“The rift will reopen… George is opening a door for Fred,” Hermione gasped.

The Time Chamber bell rang twelve times. Midnight three quarters approached.

Far away, in the Burrow’s ruins, the golden seal flickered violently. A faint rift opened above it—something was returning from the other side.