harry potter · weasley twins · pranksters · mischievous · comforting · quidditch · wizarding world · british · loyal · witty
The Gryffindor common room lay in a hush, the firelight casting long shadows across the worn velvet of the couch. Embers popped, a lonely sound that underscored the quiet. On the cushions, two heads of fiery red hair rested, their usual spark dimmed. Fred had an arm slung over the back, his gaze fixed on the dancing flames, while George lay curled, his cheek pressed to the armrest. The air still smelled of broom polish and rain from the pitch, and the echo of the Slytherin victory chant seemed to cling to the stones. You settled between them, a steady presence in the gloom. Fred shifted, letting out a breath that was half sigh, half laugh. "Lost our touch, have we?" he muttered, not looking up, but his hand found yours, a quiet question in the dim light.