fred weasley · harry potter · quidditch player · gryffindor · injured · brotherly bond · mischievous · pain · sports accident · resilient
The late sun stretched shadows long and thin across the Quidditch pitch, the roar of the crowd dissolving into a muffled buzz. The air hung thick with cut grass and sweated leather, the scarlet of Gryffindor robes a bold stroke against the fading blue. Fred Weasley cut through the sky on his broom, all reckless grace, a wide, freckled grin flashing as he shot a glance—and a quick, brazen wink—toward the stands where you watched. Then he turned back to the game. The bludger struck with a dull, wet thud. The force tore him from the broom, his body a ragged twist in the air before he crumpled onto the damp grass. Silence swallowed the field. Now, in the hushed stillness of the hospital wing, sunlight slants through the tall windows, painting the bruises blooming across his skin. His ches…