𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐋𝐋 ━ George Weasley

━ 𝟘𝟚𝟙. 𝐿𝑜𝑜𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑇ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑔ℎ𝑡𝑠

💌🏹

╰┈➤ ❝ [𝑇𝑊𝐸𝑁𝑇𝑌-𝑂𝑁𝐸] ❞ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-
⁺⤾·˚.⃗.  [ʟᴏᴏᴍɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴏᴜɢʜᴛs] 𑁍ࠜೄ ･ﾟˊˎ
﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋

Gryffindor Boy's Dormitory
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
— Scottish Highlands
( December 2nd, 1994. )

                    𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 streamed through the dormitory windows, casting long beams across the cluttered floor. Fred stirred awake, his body heavy with exhaustion. His eyes burned, and his head ached from the restless night. Every time he had managed to drift off, George's angered words echoed in his mind, dragging him back into wakefulness.

He blinked blearily at the ceiling, then turned his head toward George's bed, only to see it empty.

Fred bolted upright, panic tightening his chest. "Where's George?" he called out, his voice sharp in the quiet room.

Across the room, Lee groaned and shifted under his covers but didn't move to get up. However, Oliver Wood, who was already sitting upright with a book balanced on his knees, looked over at Fred with a raised brow.

"Relax, mate," Oliver said, his tone calm but clipped. "He's in the shower. Heard him get up a while ago."

Fred exhaled in relief, though his pulse didn't slow entirely. George in the shower was fine — but the image of last night, of George spiraling and lashing out, lingered too vividly in his mind. He rubbed a hand over his face, feeling the stubble prickling against his palm.

Lee, his face half-buried in his pillow, muttered groggily, "Thank Merlin. Thought we'd have to go hunting him down."

Fred didn't respond, glancing toward the closed bathroom door. The faint sound of running water filtered through the stillness. He wasn't entirely sure what he'd expected—maybe for George to have bolted in the middle of the night, still angry and out of it.

Oliver's gaze lingered on Fred for a moment before he returned to his book. "He seemed all right when he went in there," Oliver added, flipping a page. "Quiet, though."