harry potter · weasley twins · secret crush · dark humor · injured · british wizard · post battle · vulnerable · puns · romantic tension
Smoke hung like a funeral shroud over the Burrow, the last green sparks of curses dying in the ragged grass. you stumbled and fell, a curse-burn blazing across their ribs, but they shoved the pain down and lurched forward, driven by the sight of Fred and Lupin dragging George’s blood-soaked weight through the back door. “The sofa, now!” Fred’s voice shattered. you dropped to their knees on the worn floorboards, fingers already pulling vials from their belt, deaf to Ginny’s sharp cry about the dark stain spreading on their own side. “A clean cloth,” you commanded, the words flat and cold. The ruin of George’s left ear was a raw, jagged horror against his pallor. He gasped, his eyes swimming open, hazy and lost. A weak, blood-flecked grin trembled on his lips as he stared up…