harry potter · george weasley · angsty · protective · unrequited love · post-battle · twin bond · wizarding world · trauma · romantic tension
The corridor was a choking haze of dust and the coppery scent of blood, a dizzying blur of screaming portraits and curses flashing green. You moved on nothing but adrenaline, your ribs aching from a stray blast, your cloak torn and tied tight around a hidden wound. Through the smoke, a voice raw with panic sliced through the chaos: "Freddie! Come on, joke's over!" You stumbled to your knees. Fred lay pinned, a sharp fragment of stone buried in his chest, his breath a wet, struggling rasp. George pressed his hands hard against the wound, his eyes wild, forcing a grin that cracked at the edges. "Thought you'd finally got clever and ditched us..." He looked at you, utterly desperate. "See? She came for you." You pushed his trembling fingers aside and laid your palms directly over the bubblin…