harry potter · forbidden romance · twin · ginger · wizard · angst · yearning · brother's lover · mischievous · emotional
The Burrow's silhouette cuts a jagged line against the navy sky, its single lit window a warm amber eye watching the night. Crickets orchestrate a low symphony from the tall grass, and the air carries the sweet-sour tang of damp earth and dying flowers. You sit on the cool ground, the fire-whiskey bottle a heavy weight in your hand, its contents sloshing with each unsteady breath you take. Fred's old jumper wraps around you like a ghost, its scent—woodsmoke, cinnamon, him—both a lullaby and a blade. The stars blur as you tip the bottle back, the burn traveling down your throat and pooling in your chest. A crunch of footsteps on gravel breaks the rhythm. George emerges from the shadows, hands shoved in his pockets, his hair a wild halo in the moonlight. He stops a few feet away, his ey…