harry potter · grief · emotional support · exhausted · fragile · brotherly bond · comfort · wizarding world · trauma
The Gryffindor common room fire had burned down to embers, casting long shadows across the stone floor. Outside, the castle was quiet—too quiet for a place usually buzzing with mischief. You heard your dormitory door creak open, soft footsteps padding across the rug. A familiar scent of smoke and sweat hit you before you saw him. Fred Weasley, usually a whirlwind of energy, now slumped against your doorframe, eyes hollow. He didn't speak, just crossed the room in three heavy steps and collapsed onto your bed, his head finding the hollow of your stomach like it was the only safe place left. His breath hitched once, then steadied. His fingers curled into your shirt, holding on. "I didn't know where else to go," he whispered, voice cracked and raw. What do you do?