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╰┈➤ ❝ [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."

Fred gave a distracted nod, already swinging his legs out of bed. He stood, his body protesting from the lack of sleep, and stretched. The knot in his stomach hadn't eased, but at least George was still around.

He glanced at Lee, who had already mumbled something unintelligible and flopped back onto his side. "Thanks for the help," Fred muttered under his breath, earning only a faint snore in response.

Shoving on a pair of slippers, Fred moved toward the bathroom door, hesitating just long enough to gather himself before knocking lightly. "Oi, Georgie," he called, trying to keep his tone neutral.

There was no immediate response, just the steady sound of water hitting the tiles. Fred frowned, resting a hand against the cool wood of the door. "Look, I'm not here to start anything. Just... let me know if you're all right, yeah?"

The water shut off abruptly, leaving an eerie silence in its wake. Fred held his breath, waiting for a response.

"Be out in a minute," George's voice came, muffled but steady.

Fred stepped back, nodding to himself. "Right. I'll be out here."

As he returned to sit on the edge of his bed, his heart didn't stop racing. He could only hope that George's mood had improved — or at least that he'd be willing to talk.

George stood under the hot spray, his hands braced against the shower wall, water pouring over his head and running down his face. Steam swirled around him, thick and suffocating, but he didn't move to turn it off. The pounding of the water against his skin was the only thing grounding him in that moment.

Guilt twisted in his chest, sharp and relentless. He replayed the events of the previous night on an endless loop—the haze of smoke, the bitterness in his voice, and the look on Fred's face when he'd lashed out.

"Bloody hell," he muttered, his voice barely audible over the rush of the water.

Fred's words came back to him, cutting through the haze of his memories: 'This isn't like you.' And it wasn't, was it? This wasn't him. He wasn't the guy who flew off the handle or drowned himself in smoke and Firewhiskey. He wasn't the one who shoved people aside, who hurt the people closest to him. But last night, he'd been all of those things.

He tilted his head back, letting the water cascade over his face, as if it could wash away the guilt clinging to him like a second skin. It didn't work.

What was worse was the way Fred had looked at him—not just hurt, but confused, like he didn't recognize the person standing in front of him. That look haunted George more than anything. Fred wasn't just his twin; he was his other half, the person who understood him better than anyone. And George had shoved him away.

"Shit," George muttered, pressing his forehead against the cool tiles.

And then there was her. Olympia. The name sent a fresh wave of shame crashing over him. He didn't even know what he was doing anymore. One minute he was furious with himself for wanting her so much, and the next he was furious with her for not wanting him back—or for wanting Cedric instead.

His hands curled into fists against the wall, the water pouring over his knuckles. None of it made sense. He couldn't get her out of his head, couldn't stop thinking about the way she'd felt in his arms, the way she'd looked at him when they danced.

But instead of facing it, he'd done what he always did when things got too complicated: he'd run. Only this time, he hadn't just hurt himself; he'd hurt Fred, too.

George sighed heavily, lifting his head and running a hand through his wet hair. The water was starting to cool, but he didn't care. He leaned back against the wall, staring up at the ceiling, water dripping down his face.

"I've got to fix this," he muttered to himself, his voice cracking under the weight of his guilt.

But how? How did he even begin to make things right when he felt so lost in his own emotions? For once in his life, George didn't have an answer.

George closed his eyes, letting the now lukewarm water beat down on him, the steam curling around his skin like a suffocating reminder of his thoughts. As much as he tried to focus on fixing the present, his mind spiraled back to the past—to the Quidditch World Cup, to the chaos, and to the thing he couldn't unsee.

The Dark Mark.

He hadn't talked about it, not really. Not even to Fred. That night had been seared into his mind—the screams, the panic, the eerie green skull in the sky with a serpent slithering out of its mouth. It had sent a chill through his bones unlike anything he'd ever felt before. It wasn't just fear; it was dread, deep and all-encompassing.

He thought about what he'd overheard weeks after the Cup.

His father and Percy, sitting in the kitchen late at night, speaking in hushed tones. George had been on his way to get a glass of water when he froze at the sound of Percy's voice, sharp and laced with worry.

"The signs are there, Dad. The Death Eaters were a warning. And that mark? You-Know-Who isn't gone. He's biding his time."

His father's reply had been steadier but no less grim. "We don't know that, Percy. But we have to be prepared for the worst. If he comes back..."

George hadn't stayed to hear the rest. He hadn't wanted to.

Now, standing under the water, the memory clawed its way back to him. His chest tightened as the fear from that night resurfaced, raw and unrelenting. He hadn't told anyone what he'd overheard. Not Fred, not Lee, not even Ginny, who'd been just as shaken by the events of the World Cup as he was.

How could he? Fred always had this way of brushing off danger with a laugh, and George envied that. But this wasn't like pranking Filch or dodging a Bludger on the Quidditch pitch. This was something darker, something that felt like it could swallow them whole.

And George wasn't laughing anymore.

His hands trembled as he wiped at his face, unsure if it was water or tears clinging to his skin. He didn't even know when the weight of it had started to crush him—keeping everything in, pretending he was fine, pretending he wasn't scared out of his mind. He'd thought he could handle it, but now? Now it was too much.

His fight with Fred the night before, his obsession with Olympia, his spiraling emotions—it all came back to this. The fear. The uncertainty. The feeling that everything in their world was on the brink of crumbling and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

He slammed a fist against the shower wall, the dull thud echoing in the small space. He wanted to scream, to let it all out, but the sound caught in his throat.

Instead, he let the water pour over him, his shoulders slumping under the invisible weight he carried. He had to keep it together. For Fred. For his family. For everyone.

But deep down, George wasn't sure how much longer he could. For someone who thrived off of positivity and laughter, the thought of all that — all that he holds dear, his family, his twin, Olympia — all being snatched away? It made him feel sick.

George stepped out of the bathroom, steam swirling around him, his damp hair sticking to his forehead. He avoided Fred's eyes as he walked across the room, heading straight for his trunk. Fred, sitting on his bed with a look of pure concern etched across his face, watched him closely.

"Morning," Fred ventured cautiously, his voice laced with worry.

George didn't respond. He knelt by his trunk, rummaging through it until he pulled out his robes, shaking them out as though the act of getting dressed would shield him from the conversation looming.

Fred leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. "Georgie, what's wrong?"

George stilled for a moment, his back to Fred, before letting out a forced laugh that didn't reach his eyes. "Nothing. I'm fine, Fred."

Fred's brows furrowed. "No, you're not. You've been off for days. Last night—"

George cut him off. "Drop it, Fred." He pulled his robes over his head, his tone flat, void of its usual warmth. He picked up his robes and began striding toward the bathroom, right before he was able to close the door a strong hand caught it.

Fred.

Fred's jaw tightened as something inside him snapped. He stood abruptly, his hands clenched on the door frame. "Lee, Oliver, get out for a sec, will ya?"

Lee, still groggy in bed, groaned and rolled over. "Oi, it's our room too. You don't get to—"

But Oliver, already dressed and perched on his bed with a book, reached over and grabbed Lee by the collar, hauling him up with surprising strength. "Come on, mate. Let's go."

Lee sputtered in protest but didn't fight too hard as Oliver dragged him toward the door. With one last glance at the twins, Oliver shut the door behind them, leaving the room in tense silence.

George blinked, rolling his eyes and pulling his robes halfway on, and let out a long, exasperated sigh. After fully dressed he walked over to his bed and sat heavily on the edge, burying his face in his hands.

Fred crossed his arms, his tone low but firm. "George. What the fuck is going on."

George didn't respond at first. His fingers tugged at his hair, his shoulders rising and falling with unsteady breaths. Finally, he muttered, "It's nothing, Fred. Just... drop it."

Fred stepped closer, his voice rising. "No, I'm not dropping it! You've been acting like someone else, Georgie. You're shutting me out, you're drinking yourself sick, and you're getting so high you don't even know what's real anymore!"

George flinched but didn't lift his head.

Fred continued, his voice cracking with emotion. "You're my twin. My best mate. And for the first time in our lives, I don't know what's going on in your head. Do you have any idea how bloody terrifying that is?"

George's hands fell away from his face, his expression a mixture of guilt and frustration. He shook his head, his voice hoarse. "You wouldn't understand, Fred."

Fred threw his arms in the air. "Then make me understand! For Merlin's sake, George, talk to me!"

George's hands balled into fists on his knees as he finally looked up at Fred. His voice was low, trembling with suppressed emotion. "I'm scared, Fred. Alright? I'm bloody terrified."

Fred's anger evaporated in an instant, replaced by raw concern. "Scared of what?"

George swallowed hard, his gaze darting away. "Everything. The world. What's coming. That mark in the sky, the whispers I've heard... It's like everything's falling apart, and I can't stop it. I feel... I feel like I'm drowning."

Fred stared at him, stunned into silence for a moment. Then, he sat down beside George, his hand gripping his brother's shoulder. "Georgie, you're not alone in this. Whatever it is, we'll get through it. Together."

George's head dipped, a bitter laugh escaping him. "I don't know how you always sound so sure."

Fred gave his shoulder a squeeze. "Because I've got you. And you've got me. That's how it's always been, yeah?"

George nodded, his breath hitching as he fought back the tears threatening to spill.

George's voice cracked as he broke the silence. "Father thinks a war is coming, Freddie." He rubbed his palms against his knees, his face pale and drawn. "And I can't lose you. I can't lose any of you."

Fred froze, his hand still on George's shoulder, feeling his twin's words hit like a physical blow.

"Georgie..." Fred whispered, his voice barely audible.

George shook his head, his breathing uneven. "You didn't hear the way he talked about it. After the World Cup, after the Dark Mark..." He swallowed hard, his eyes glassy as he stared at the floor. "He said it's not just a sign, Fred. It's a warning. He said You-Know-Who might be back. And if he is... if there's another war..."

Fred tightened his grip on George's shoulder. "Hey. Don't go there. Don't do that to yourself."

George finally turned to look at Fred, his expression raw with fear and vulnerability. "How can I not? Do you know what it's like to think about losing you? Or Mum? Or Ginny? Or anyone for that matter." His voice broke, and he took a shaky breath. "Every time I close my eyes, I see it. Him coming back. Us fighting. And I see you—"

Fred interrupted, his voice firm despite the tremor running through it. "Stop it, George. That's not going to happen."

"You don't know that!" George snapped, his fear spilling into anger. "You're always so bloody confident, but you don't know what's coming. None of us do. And what if we're not ready?"

Fred's jaw tightened, but he didn't let go. "We'll deal with it when it comes. Together. Like we always do."

George let out a bitter laugh. "You make it sound so simple."

"It's not simple," Fred admitted. "But we've got each other, Georgie. That's all we've ever needed."

George looked away, his shoulders slumping. "I don't feel like I'm enough. Not for this."

Fred leaned closer, his voice soft but unwavering. "You're more than enough, George. You always have been. And whatever's coming, we'll face it. Side by side. I'm not letting you go anywhere without me, you hear?"

George's lip quivered, but he nodded, the fight slowly leaving his body. "I'm just... I'm scared, Fred."

Fred pulled him into a tight hug, his hand gripping the back of George's head. "I know, mate. Me too. But you don't have to carry it alone."

For a long moment, they sat there, the weight of the moment heavy around them, but for the first time in days, George felt like he could breathe again.

Library
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
— Scottish Highlands
( December 2nd, 1994. )

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐈𝐁𝐑𝐀𝐑𝐘 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐄𝐓, the faint scratch of quills and the occasional turn of pages the only sounds breaking the stillness. Olympia sat hunched over a particularly dense Transfiguration text, her quill tapping rhythmically against the parchment. Across from her, Cassie pretended to be immersed in her own book, though her mind was racing.

She couldn't stop thinking about her conversation with Fred—or the weight of Olympia's confession. The truth was out there now, hovering like a storm cloud. Finally, Cassie leaned forward, breaking the silence.

"Olympia," she said softly but firmly, her voice cutting through the quiet.

Olympia looked up, her brows furrowed. "What?"

Cassie hesitated for a moment before pressing forward. "So... what are you going to do? You know, with the whole George thing?"

Olympia let out a heavy sigh, leaning back in her chair. "I don't really want to think about that right now, Cass."

Cassie raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. "You can't just avoid it forever, Ols."

"I'm not avoiding it," Olympia argued, though the edge in her voice betrayed her. "I just... there's nothing to do. He's with Marianna. End of story."

Cassie didn't relent. "What about Cedric, huh? You've been spending plenty of time with him lately."

Olympia stiffened, her fingers gripping the edge of the table. "That's different."

"Is it?" Cassie challenged, tilting her head. "Because from where I'm sitting, it looks like you're juggling two very complicated situations."

Olympia glared at her twin but didn't deny it. She closed her book with a frustrated snap, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Cedric's in a delicate spot right now. The competition, the pressure—it's a lot. The last thing he needs is me spiraling everything out of control."

"And George?" Cassie pressed.

Olympia shook her head, her voice tinged with bitterness. "What about George? He's with Marianna. And even if he wasn't, what am I supposed to do? Throw myself at him and hope for the best? He doesn't feel that way about me, Cass. Not really."

Cassie's eyes softened, but she didn't back down. "You don't know that. You're assuming."

"Maybe I am," Olympia admitted, her shoulders slumping. "But it doesn't change anything. He's happy with Marianna, and I'm not about to ruin that."

Cassie snorted, loud enough to earn a sharp glare from Madam Pince across the library. Olympia scowled at her twin, her cheeks heating.

"What's so funny?" Olympia snapped, crossing her arms defensively.

"George is happy with Marianna?" Cassie repeated, barely stifling another laugh. "Come on, Ols. You can't actually believe that."

Olympia narrowed her eyes. "And why not?"

Cassie leaned forward, lowering her voice to a whisper. "Because it's painfully obvious he isn't. The guy can't even go five minutes without looking at you. And don't think I haven't noticed how you've been avoiding his eyes like he's got the bloody plague."

Olympia's mouth opened to argue, but the words caught in her throat. Instead, she crossed her arms tighter, her nails digging into her skin. "He's with her, Cass. That means something."

Cassie rolled her eyes. "Sure, it means he's stubborn and probably trying to convince himself he doesn't feel something for someone else. But happy? Not a chance."

Olympia sighed, her resolve wavering. "Even if that's true, it doesn't matter. He made his choice. And I..." She hesitated, her voice softening. "I have to respect that."

Cassie studied her for a moment, her expression both exasperated and empathetic. "Respect it all you want, Ols. But don't lie to yourself about how you feel. Or how he does, for that matter."

Olympia looked away, her fingers twisting in her lap. "It doesn't change anything," she muttered, though her voice sounded far less convincing now.

Cassie shook her head, a small smirk tugging at her lips. "You two are absolutely hopeless."

Olympia let out a deep sigh, her frustration palpable as she closed her book and rose to her feet. Cassie grabbed her hand before she could take another step.

"Where are you going?" Cassie asked, concern mingled with curiosity in her voice.

"To talk to George," Olympia said, her tone decisive.

Cassie blinked, momentarily stunned. "Wait—are you serious?"

Without missing a beat, Olympia glanced down at her twin with a pointed look. "Don't gloat." She pulled her hand free and strode purposefully out of the library, her heart thudding in her chest.

As she walked through the corridors, rehearsing what she might say to George, she barely noticed the buzz of students gathering ahead. The sound of murmuring voices and laughter drew her attention, and she slowed her pace.

A large group of Hufflepuff boys stood clustered in the middle of the hall, their faces lit with excitement as they held up a massive sign that read, "Olympia, Will You Go to the Yule Ball with Me?"

Her heart stopped, and she froze in place. Emerging from behind the group was Cedric Diggory, a wide grin on his face and a bouquet of flowers in his hand. His hazel eyes sparkled with excitement, and the crowd around him began to cheer.

Olympia's cheeks flushed as she felt all eyes on her. She couldn't ignore the unmistakable flash of a camera. Glancing to the side, she caught sight of Rita Skeeter, her Quick-Quotes Quill scribbling furiously as she snapped pictures with an almost predatory glee.

Cedric approached her, his smile growing softer as he held out the bouquet. "Well?" he asked, his voice full of charm and hope.

Olympia's mind raced. This was not what she had expected—not at all.

Olympia hesitated for a moment, the pressure mounting as Cedric's hopeful eyes met hers. The crowd around them waited with bated breath, their cheers and murmurs blending into a distant hum. She could feel the weight of their gazes, and the flash of cameras intensified the moment.

Despite the swirl of conflicting emotions inside her—George's image flashing unbidden in her mind—Olympia couldn't bring herself to say anything but the words she knew would satisfy everyone.

"Yes," she finally said, her voice barely above a whisper but loud enough to be heard.

The reaction was immediate. The Hufflepuff boys erupted in cheers, clapping and shouting their approval, while Cedric's face broke into a bright smile. Before she could fully comprehend what was happening, he stepped forward and lifted her into a warm, celebratory hug.

Her heart pounded in her chest, and for a moment, she couldn't think of anything but the feeling of being swept up in his arms. She inhaled the scent of him—fresh and clean, the flowers still clutched in his hand. But just as quickly as he had picked her up, he gently set her down, his eyes never leaving hers.

Then, without warning, Cedric leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to her cheek, his lips warm and reassuring. The camera flashes intensified, blinding her for a moment. She heard more cheers from the Hufflepuff boys, their voices mingling with the sharp clicks of Skeeter's camera.

For just a moment, it felt real, and for a split second, Olympia let herself believe that maybe this was what she needed. But as Cedric pulled back, his smile wide and pleased, her mind betrayed her.

It wandered. It wandered right back to George.

Her chest tightened, and the sudden swirl of guilt and longing made her feel like she was suffocating. The laughter, the cheers, even Cedric's voice calling out to her seemed distant. All she could hear was the faint echo of George's name in her thoughts.