harry potter · grief · emotional support · exhausted · fragile · brotherly bond · comfort · wizarding world · trauma
The fire in the Gryffindor common room had dwindled to glowing coals, stretching shadows long and thin across the flagstones. The castle beyond was silent—a deep, unnatural quiet where there should be whispers and footsteps. Your dormitory door creaked softly, then footsteps padded across the rug. The scent of woodsmoke and sweat reached you before he did. Fred Weasley, normally a storm of restless energy, leaned heavily against the doorframe, his eyes dark and empty. He didn't speak. In three slow strides, he crossed the room and collapsed onto your bed, his head settling against your stomach as if it were the last stable ground. A single choked breath escaped him, then his breathing evened, shallow and raw. His fingers twisted into your shirt, holding fast. "I had nowhere else," he wh…