Aurora Olsen (George Weasley & Draco Malfoy love triangle)

Chapter 12

As Aurora slowly awoke, she felt the comforting warmth of George's embrace enveloping her. Her head was throbbing from the night before, a dull reminder of the alcohol and emotions she had consumed. She shifted slightly, her limbs still tangled with his, and blinked sleepily at the grandfather clock in the corner of the room. It was 12:17 p.m. — she had slept far longer than she had intended.

The room was dimly lit by the soft light filtering through the curtains, casting a gentle glow over the disheveled space. Aurora's gaze drifted to George, who was lying beside her, shirtless. His bare chest was close against her, and she could feel the steady rise and fall of his breathing beneath her cheek. His only clothing was a pair of boxers, and she could see the faint lines of muscles and the remnants of the night's intimacy. She remembered the nightmare she had had and the way George had comforted her through the darkness. No one had ever offered her such solace before.

George's eyes fluttered open, and he looked down at her with a playful smirk. "Staring at me while I'm asleep? Must mean you like me or something," he teased, his voice tinged with amusement.

Aurora's cheeks flushed crimson. She had not intended to be caught in the act of her lingering gaze, and she stammered, "I— I'm sorry. I didn't mean to stare." She shifted slightly, trying to disentangle herself, but George's arm snaked around her back, his fingers brushing against the ends of her hair in a soothing gesture.

"Big nightmare, huh?" George's tone softened, a hint of genuine concern in his voice as he continued to stroke her hair. Aurora nodded, her throat tightening as she recalled the terror of the previous night. "I have nightmares all the time, too," George admitted quietly. "About Fred."

Aurora's heart ached as she heard his words. She knew from conversations with Ginny and Ron that Fred had died in the war, but she had never pressed them for details, respecting their silence. George's confession struck a chord deep within her. "He died trying to protect me from Greyback," George continued, his voice wavering slightly. "Sometimes, I can't even look at myself in the mirror without seeing him. I miss him... and Dad. I understand what it's like to miss someone deeply. So, I get it. I understand you miss your mum."

Aurora felt a profound empathy for George. In that moment, her own pain seemed to pale in comparison to his. She could see the raw grief in his eyes, the kind that lingered even amidst the laughter and bravado. Without a second thought, she leaned closer, wrapping her arms around him in a tender embrace. "Oh, I'm so sorry, George," she murmured softly, her voice choked with emotion.

George's breaths grew uneven, and Aurora could feel the tremors of his silent tears against her shoulder. The weight of his grief and vulnerability was palpable, and Aurora held him tighter, offering what comfort she could. She could sense his heartache, the way it mingled with her own, creating a shared space of sorrow and understanding.

They remained in that quiet embrace, a cocoon of warmth and shared pain, for what felt like a long while. The room around them seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of them — bound together by their mutual struggles and the unspoken understanding that only those who have lost could truly share.

As George's sobs eventually subsided, he gently pulled back to look at Aurora, his eyes red and swollen but softened by the comfort of her presence. "Thanks for being here," he said quietly, his voice barely more than a whisper. Aurora nodded, her own tears mingling with his.

They remained close, the silence between them now a gentle reminder of their shared vulnerability. Aurora realized, in that quiet moment, that sometimes the greatest comfort comes not from words but from the simple act of being present with someone who understands.

As the room fell into a peaceful quiet, George's tears slowly ceased, leaving behind a calm, reflective silence. He pulled back slightly, his arms still loosely wrapped around Aurora as their eyes met. There was a heaviness between them, but it wasn't just grief—it was something deeper, something unspoken. It was a moment of connection, of understanding, and of shared vulnerability that neither of them had anticipated.