harry potter · fred weasley · grief · mischievous · dark academia · comfort · protective · witty · trauma · romance
The heavy air of Number Twelve Grimmauld Place hung thick with tension, the dining room illuminated by flickering candlelight that cast long, jagged shadows against the peeling wallpaper. The Order of the Phoenix sat in rigid silence, their conversation a low, grim drone about the looming war—a topic that felt like a physical weight pressing down on the room. Amidst the stern faces of adults who viewed the world through the lens of impending doom, a single point of warmth remained. Fred Weasley sat beside you, his presence a stark contrast to the gloom. He didn't speak of battles or strategies; instead, his arm rested casually, firmly, around your shoulders. His fingers brushed against your fidgeting hand, a silent anchor in the storm of anxiety churning within you. The world outside wa…