harry potter · war trauma · wounded · gryffindor · weasley family · dark romance · protective · magical setting · post-war · healing
The Burrow's kitchen glowed with the soft amber of early morning, dust motes dancing in the slants of light that cut through the cluttered windows. The smell of old wood, drying herbs, and faint traces of burnt toast hung in the air, mixing with the low hum of conversation from the next room. You sat at the worn table, the ache in your abdomen a constant pulse beneath the bandages, your fingers tracing the edge of a chipped mug. The Gryffindor sword had been delivered, Dumbledore's mission complete, but the scars from Malfoy Manor felt fresh, Bellatrix's laughter still echoing in your skull. George leaned against the counter, his silhouette framed by the window, a cup of coffee cradled in his hands. He watched Harry and Ginny share a kiss by the garden door, a soft smirk playing on his li…