XVIII
The following month saw Umbridge tightening her grip on Hogwarts with a vice-like hold, her insidious presence spreading like a dark cloud over the castle. It was as though power had seeped into her very veins, twisting her into an even more tyrannical figure. Each day brought a new decree, each more absurd and oppressive than the last.
Loitering in the corridors was soon outlawed, swiftly followed by a decree forbidding any physical contact between students. Even a friendly pat on the back or a comforting hug was met with sharp reprimands and detention. The rules became increasingly invasive—uniforms were scrutinized down to the last button, spare time was regulated with rigid schedules, and laughter seemed to echo less and less in the once lively halls.
Even in lessons, Umbridge’s oppressive presence loomed large. She had taken it upon herself to evaluate every teacher, scrutinizing their methods and questioning their qualifications with a smirk that made Thalia’s blood boil. It wasn’t just observation—it was a deliberate attempt to undermine the staff, to strip them of their authority and dignity.
The tension at Hogwarts was reaching a boiling point, and nowhere was it more evident than in the icy spectacle that unfolded one crisp morning in the castle courtyard. Professor Trelawney, with her shawls and bangles jangling, stood trembling in the center of the quad, surrounded by her haphazardly packed bags. Her wide, tear-filled eyes darted nervously around the gathered crowd of students and faculty, her fragile composure crumbling under the weight of Dolores Umbridge’s smug, saccharine smile.
Umbridge, clad in her signature sickly pink cardigan, stood on the steps with a scroll in her hand, her voice ringing out with cold finality as she declared Trelawny unfit for her position. “It is the Ministry’s decision,” she said, her words dripping with false sweetness, “that you are no longer competent to fulfill your duties as a professor at this institution.”
A commanding voice had cut through the chaos “That will do, Dolores.” All heads turned as Albus Dumbledore emerged from the castle, his robes billowing and his expression calm but resolute.With a few words, Dumbledore had reassured Trelawny that she was not going anywhere, his voice gentle but firm as held her swaying frame.While Umbridge sputtered in indignation, her arguments drowned out by the murmurs of support from the students. Dumbledore delivered his coup de grâce a few days later. With deliberate defiance, he hired Firenze, a centaur from the Forbidden Forest, to take over Divination classes. The sight of Firenze—his majestic form striding through the halls, his hooves echoing against the stone floors—was a sharp rebuke to Umbridge’s authority. She visibly bristled whenever she passed him, her face turning an alarming shade of puce as the students whispered and giggled behind her back.
But Umbridge’s campaign of terror didn’t stop there. Emboldened by her position as High Inquisitor, she continued to target other professors with her relentless inspections. Thalia had been in Charms when Umbridge had measured Professor Flitwick, standing on a small stool to peer down her nose at the diminutive professor. Her sugary-sweet voice dripped with malice as she asked him, “Tell me, Filius, about your heritage. I believe it’s... mixed, is it not?” Flitwick, ever composed, had answered with a polite but firm tone, his professionalism unwavering despite the insult disguised as curiosity. The students, however, had bristled with indignation, their wands trembling in their hands as they gripped them a little too tightly.
In Astronomy, Thalia had watched as Umbridge questioned Professor Sinistra, her tone dripping with condescension. “And what, pray tell, is the necessity of this subject? Gazing at stars hardly seems practical, does it?” Sinistra had remained calm, explaining the importance of celestial navigation and its ties to magical theory, but the slight flush in her cheeks betrayed her frustration.
None of the teachers seemed to fare well under Umbridge’s evaluations. Her reports were whispered to be scathing, filled with thinly veiled disdain and recommendations for “improvement” that seemed designed to strip away any sense of individuality or creativity in teaching.
As predicted, however, it was Professor McGonagall who had stood her ground. Thalia had heard about the confrontation from nearly every Gryffindor at the dinner table that evening. Umbridge had interrupted one of McGonagall’s Transfiguration lessons, her clipboard clutched tightly to her chest as she began firing off questions about teaching methods and curriculum. McGonagall, with her signature calm authority, had responded with cutting precision, her words polite but laced with steel.
The verbal sparring had been a sight to behold, with McGonagall refusing to be cowed by Umbridge’s thinly veiled threats. At one point, the older professor had even adjusted her glasses, peering over the rims as she said, “If you wish to know how to properly instruct a classroom, Madam, I would be happy to provide a demonstration. However, I fear it might be... beyond your current level of comprehension.”
The Gryffindors had cheered in secret later, their respect for McGonagall reaching new heights. Even the other houses had whispered their admiration, though fear of retribution kept their celebrations subdued.
Hogwarts no longer felt like a school; it was a prison. The warmth and wonder that once defined it had been replaced by a suffocating sense of control and fear.
For Thalia, there was no reprieve. Home continued to be just as bleak. Her grandfather had practically vanished, his once commanding presence reduced to fleeting glimpses as he came and went without explanation. When he was at home, he locked himself away in his study, the door firmly shut against the outside world.
She had taken to staying at the school full-time, her excuses about needing to study conveniently masking her true reasons. The thought of returning to her house, with its echoing silence and the shadowy figures that filtered through at odd hours, sent a shiver down her spine. Her grandfather’s companions, with their sharp eyes and hushed conversations, were a constant reminder of the danger lurking just beneath the surface. Even Hogwarts, as oppressive as it had become, felt safer than home.
However, this self-imposed escape had come at a cost—Thalia had found herself with very little information to provide to Kingsley. Aside from a vague conversation she’d overheard about “equipment,” she hadn’t been able to write for nearly a month. Each blank sheet of parchment felt like an accusation, a silent reminder of her inability to contribute.
Whenever she crossed paths with Professor McGonagall, the older woman would glance at her expectantly, only for Thalia to mournfully shake her head. McGonagall, always composed, had tried to reassure her, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. “You can’t overhear conversations your grandfather isn’t having, Miss Winterbourne,” she’d said kindly. “You’ve already done more than most your age would even dare to.”
But the words, though well-meaning, did little to soothe Thalia’s growing sense of inadequacy. The weight of her perceived failure pressed down on her, heavy and relentless. She had been so certain of her ability to help, to make a difference, but now she felt like a liability, a weak link in a chain that couldn’t afford to break.
Her nights were restless, her mind consumed with thoughts of what she might be missing, what crucial details might be slipping through her fingers while she stayed at Hogwarts. Her guilt gnawed at her, a constant undercurrent to her days. Even in the moments when George’s laughter or the warmth of her friends briefly lifted her spirits, the feeling would creep back in, cold and insidious.
It wasn’t just Thalia who seemed to be under the weather. Harry, too, was a shadow of himself, his presence growing more scarce with each passing day. She noticed it most at mealtimes, where his usual seat at the Gryffindor table often sat empty, the untouched plates around it a silent testament to his absence. When she did catch sight of him, her heart ached for the boy who seemed to be fighting battles no one else could see.
He moved through the corridors with his shoulders hunched, as though the weight of the world had been placed squarely on them. The vibrant energy he’d once carried—his determination, his fiery sense of justice—seemed to have dimmed, replaced by a quiet, almost haunting weariness.
At meal times, when he did appear, Harry often stared blankly at his plate, his fork idly pushing food around but never lifting it to his mouth. In the common room, he would sit by the fire, his gaze fixed on the flickering flames, his emerald eyes heavy with exhaustion.
Thalia couldn’t help but feel a pang of empathy every time she saw him. She understood what it was like to carry burdens too big for one person, to feel like the world expected you to solve problems you didn’t fully understand. But with Harry, it was different. His struggles were etched into every line of his face, every weary step he took.
She often wondered what plagued him so deeply. Was it Cedric’s death? The mounting disbelief from the Ministry? Or was it something darker, something he hadn’t shared with anyone? Whatever it was, it was clear he bore it alone, and that solitude only seemed to deepen the shadows under his eyes.
For all her frustrations with her own situation, seeing Harry reminded Thalia that she wasn’t the only one struggling to find her footing in a world teetering on the edge of chaos.
The only time Thalia ever saw a flicker of life in Harry’s weary eyes was during the clandestine meetings of Dumbledore’s Army. In those dimly lit sessions, hidden away in the Room of Requirement, Harry seemed to transform. The weight he carried daily lifted ever so slightly as he guided them through complex spells with a determination that bordered on fierce.
That week, the focus had shifted from simple dueling spells to the more intricate and emotionally charged art of shield and protection charms. Harry had pushed them harder than ever, encouraging them to extend their shields beyond themselves, to imagine protecting someone else. “It’s not just about surviving,” he’d said, his voice steady and commanding, “it’s about making sure the people you care about survive too.”
The words had struck a deep chord in Thalia, one that resonated long after the session had ended. That night, her mind refused to quiet. Her dreams twisted and churned, dragging her into scenarios where the stakes were impossibly high. She relived the session over and over, but instead of the controlled environment of the Room of Requirement, she was on a battlefield. The scenes were chaotic and terrifying—shouts, flashes of green and red light, and the sound of spells ricocheting off stone walls. She saw herself standing between her friends and an onslaught of curses, her wand trembling in her hand as she tried to summon a shield large enough to protect them all. But no matter how hard she tried, the magic faltered, splintering like glass under the pressure.
Her nightmares always ended the same way. She’d turn, desperate to shield George, only to find herself too late. The image of his wide, lifeless brown eyes haunted her, staring up at her in silent accusation as she screamed, her voice raw and broken.
Thalia woke each time with a jolt, her chest heaving and her sheets damp with sweat. The dreams left her shaken, her confidence in her abilities crumbling under the weight of imagined failure. What good was magic, she wondered bitterly, if it couldn’t protect the people she loved most?
Yet, despite the fear that gnawed at her, she forced herself to return to the DA meetings. If nothing else, Harry’s unwavering resolve reminded her why she had to keep trying. They were all fighting for something bigger than themselves, and Thalia knew she couldn’t let her doubts hold her back. Not when the stakes were this high.
Fred and George had both noticed Thalia’s increasingly despondent demeanor as the term dragged on. She wasn’t the same fiery, quick-witted girl who had once laughed with them over jokes and pranks. Instead, she had become quieter, her presence more like a shadow that lingered at the edges of conversations. The dark circles under her eyes told a story of sleepless nights, and her once vibrant appearance had grown pale and gaunt.
Fred had chalked it up to the ever-growing tension at Hogwarts—the oppressive weight of Umbridge’s reign, the looming threat of Voldemort, and the whispers of war. But George couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to it, something deeper and more personal that Thalia wasn’t sharing.
Nova and Kristen had tried to intervene, both approaching Thalia with gentle offers to talk, to listen, or simply to keep her company. Each time, however, Thalia had brushed them off with a strained smile and a dismissive, “I’m fine.” But she wasn’t fine. George could see it in the way her shoulders hunched as if she were carrying an invisible burden, in the way her eyes darted around as though searching for something—or someone—who wasn’t there.
It was Nova who finally cornered George in the corridor between classes, her voice low and urgent as she leaned in close. “Organize something this evening,” she whispered, her sharp eyes locking onto his with determination. “Convince her to relax, just for a little while. Maybe in the common room or somewhere she feels safe.”
George blinked, caught off guard by the intensity of Nova’s request. He glanced over her shoulder, catching a glimpse of Thalia disappearing around the corner, her head bowed.
“She won’t let me,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.
“She will if it’s you,” Nova countered, her tone leaving no room for argument. She gave him a meaningful look before brushing past him, her robes swishing as she disappeared into the crowd of students.
George stood there for a moment, staring after her, before nodding to himself.
By lunchtime, George had come up with a plan. He’d been turning it over in his mind all morning, watching Thalia out of the corner of his eye whenever their paths crossed. She moved like a ghost, her steps quieter than they used to be, her head always bowed as though the weight of her thoughts were too heavy to lift.
Wandering through the crowded halls, George caught sight of her distinctive curly hair disappearing around a corner. Quickening his pace, he called out, “Not so fast!” His voice carried above the din, and he jogged to catch up with her.
Thalia stopped and turned, her expression weary but softening as she spotted him. “I’m just heading to the library,” she mumbled, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. “I wanted to research shield charms again before next week.” Her voice was quiet, almost apologetic, as if she needed to justify her every action.
George frowned. She looked exhausted—more so than usual. Dark circles stood out starkly against her pale skin, and her uniform hung a little too loosely on her frame.
“As wonderful as that sounds,” he said, stepping closer and gently placing his hands on her shoulders, “you need to eat something first.” He turned her around with surprising ease, steering her back toward the Great Hall.
“George, I’m really not hungry,” she protested, wiggling out of his grip but not walking away.
“Lia,” he said, his tone firm but kind. “You didn’t eat breakfast this morning, and last night, you barely touched that bread roll.You just picked it apart. You must be starving.”
“I’m fine,” she insisted, crossing her arms defensively.
George raised an eyebrow, his lips quirking into a knowing smirk. “You’re a terrible liar, you know that?”
She opened her mouth to argue, but George cut her off. “Come on, just five minutes. I’ll even let you drag me to the library afterward if you really want to.”
Thalia hesitated, her eyes darting toward the hallway leading to the library. Finally, with a sigh of defeat, she relented. “Fine. But only five minutes.”
“Deal,” George said with a grin, slipping an arm around her shoulders as he led her back toward the Great Hall.
As they walked, he kept up a light, playful chatter, doing his best to draw her out of her shell. By the time they reached the Gryffindor table, he had coaxed a small smile out of her, though her eyes still held a shadow of worry.
George didn’t press her further, but as they sat down at the Gryffindor table, he slid a steaming bowl of soup in front of her before buttering a crusty roll with deliberate care. He placed it on her plate without a word, his expression calm but expectant.
Thalia stared at the soup for a long moment, her spoon resting idly in her hand. She stirred the broth absently, watching the ripples swirl and fade, as though lost in thought. George watched her out of the corner of his eye, pretending to be absorbed in his own meal.
Finally, she caught his gaze, her shoulders slumping as she sighed in defeat. “Fine,” she muttered under her breath, ripping a piece of bread from the roll and dunking it into the soup. She popped it into her mouth, chewing slowly, her face unreadable.
George’s lips twitched into a small, satisfied smile, but he said nothing. He simply kept eating, giving her space to eat at her own pace. To his surprise, Thalia eventually finished the entire bowl and even reached for another roll to mop up the last of the broth.
When she finally set her spoon down, she looked at him with a raised eyebrow. “Can I go now?” she asked, her tone dry but lacking its usual bite.
“Yep,” George replied, standing and grabbing both of their bags. He slung them over one shoulder with practiced ease, then placed a hand gently on the small of her back to guide her toward the door.
As they passed through the Great Hall, George caught Nova’s eye in the crowd. She gave him a relieved smile, her expression softening with gratitude. George returned the gesture with a reassuring nod, silently promising her that he had things under control—for now.
Once they were in the quieter corridors, Thalia glanced at him, frowning. “George, you really don’t have to come with me,” she said, reaching for her bag.
George sidestepped her attempt, holding the bags just out of her reach. “I promised, Winterbourne,” he said with a teasing grin. “And a Weasley never breaks their promise.”
Thalia rolled her eyes, but the faintest hint of a smile tugged at her lips. For a moment, she allowed herself to be led, the weight on her shoulders feeling just a little lighter.
The pair had spent the entire afternoon tucked away in a quiet corner of the library, the winter sunlight streaming through the tall, arched windows, casting a golden glow over the rows of bookshelves. Thalia was hunched over her parchment, diligently taking notes from a thick, dusty reference book propped open in front of her. George, on the other hand, was only half-paying attention to the world of academia. His focus was split between her and the small contraption in his hands, which looked suspiciously like a wind-up cat toy.
Every so often, Thalia would rise from her seat, muttering about needing another book. As she moved between the shelves, George's eyes followed her, a soft smile tugging at his lips. He noticed the way she had pinned her hair back with her wand, the messy bun barely containing her curls as they spiraled rebelliously around her face.
After their earlier meal, she seemed lighter, her mood less clouded. Though she was still quieter than usual, her shoulders no longer slumped under invisible weight, and her movements had a newfound steadiness. George could see the faintest spark of life returning to her eyes, a subtle but encouraging shift that made his heart ache with a mixture of relief and hope.
At one point, Thalia returned to the table with an armful of books, dropping them onto the table with a soft thud. She glanced at the contraption George was tinkering with, raising an eyebrow. “What is that?” she asked, her voice carrying a hint of curiosity.
George grinned, holding up the small device. “A prototype for one of our new products. It’s a bit of a work in progress.”
Thalia tilted her head, studying it. “Looks like something a cat would chase.”
“That’s the idea,” George replied with a wink. “Except this one’s enchanted to leave behind a trail of harmless sparks. Cats love it, and so do pranksters who want to distract Filch’s mangy beast.”
Thalia let out a soft laugh, shaking her head as she sat back down. “Will you and Fred ever stop terrorising Filch?”
“Not if we can help it,” George said, his grin widening. Thalia was shocked to realise they hadn’t had this playful back and forth in weeks and with shaky realisation she thought about how much she had missed it.
Shaking her head, Thalia laughed softly at the sight of George’s "thinking face," his tongue sticking out the corner of his mouth as he fiddled with the contraption in his hands. The absurdity of it, paired with the intensity of his concentration, was enough to make her forget her own worries, if only for a moment. Smiling to herself, she returned to her work, finding solace in the quiet hum of the library—the occasional rustle of pages, the scratch of quills on parchment, and the faint whisper of distant conversations blending into a calming atmosphere.
When the time came for her next lesson, George walked her through the bustling corridors to her final class of the day, his lanky frame relaxed and cheerful as always.
“You really don’t have to, George,” Thalia protested, feeling a twinge of guilt for monopolizing his entire afternoon.
“Nonsense!” he replied with a grin, waving off her concerns. “I’ll see you later,” he called over his shoulder, throwing her a cheeky grin and a little wave as he rounded the corner, leaving her shaking her head with an amused smile.
As promised, when Thalia emerged from the stifling potions classroom, her hair frizzed from the heat and humidity of brewing a particularly finicky Draught of Living Death, George was there. He stood leaning casually against the wall, a large bag slung over one shoulder and his trademark grin lighting up his face.
“Come on, then!” he said brightly, grabbing her hand without a preamble and tugging her through the crowded corridor.
“George, where are we going?” she asked, laughing as he pulled her along, weaving deftly through the flow of students heading to the Great Hall for dinner.
“You’ll see!” he called back over his shoulder, his voice full of mischief.
Thalia stumbled to avoid colliding with a group of third-year boys, spinning awkwardly as George dragged her along. The further they went, the clearer the corridors became, until they were practically running, their footsteps echoing against the stone walls. Their panting breaths and Thalia’s giggles filled the otherwise empty hallways.
Finally, they skidded to a stop in front of the portrait of the Fat Lady.
“The Gryffindor common room?” Thalia asked, raising an eyebrow at him.
“Yep!” George said, his grin widening. “But first, close your eyes—I’ve got a surprise for you!”
Thalia rolled her eyes, stubbornly shaking her head.
“Oh, come on,” George groaned, laughing as he stepped behind her. “If you won’t do it yourself…” He gently placed his hands over her eyes, bending slightly to whisper in her ear, “No peeking!”
“George!” she protested, laughing as he guided her forward.
The Fat Lady gave them both a disapproving look, her painted eyebrows arching as George said the password. “Honestly, the pair of you,” she muttered, swinging open reluctantly.
With George nudging her forward, Thalia stumbled into the common room, dragging her feet in protest. “I hate this,” she grumbled. “I’ve been robbed of one of my senses, and I feel like a fool.”
“You’ve got all the elegance of a newborn thestral,” George teased as she tripped, only managing to steady herself by grabbing his wrist.
“I’d be a lot more coordinated if some oaf wasn’t covering my eyes,” she shot back, her tone playful.
“Hey! Enough of the name-calling—that’s not kind,” George whined, though his voice was tinged with laughter. “Anyway, we’re here. Take a look.”
He removed his hands, and Thalia blinked as her vision adjusted. Her breath caught at the sight before her.
Directly in front of the roaring fireplace was a large, fluffy blanket spread across the floor, surrounded by an assortment of cushions and smaller blankets. The warm glow of the fire bathed the cozy setup in golden light. George had already seated himself on one of the cushions, rummaging through the large bag he’d carried.
He began pulling out bowls and packages wrapped in parchment, followed by a couple of bottles of butterbeer and two glasses. Looking up at her stunned expression, he smiled sheepishly.
“You’ve been avoiding mealtimes a bit lately,” he began, scratching the back of his neck. “I wasn’t sure if it was because you weren’t in the mood for food or if it was just too loud for you in the Great Hall, so I thought we could have our very own picnic. I wanted it to be outside, but, well…” He gestured vaguely toward the window, where raindrops streaked the glass. “I didn’t want you to freeze to death. And, you know, rain.”
Thalia stared at him, her heart swelling at the thoughtfulness of his gesture. “George,” she said softly, her voice catching.
“Don’t get all sappy on me now, Winterbourne,” he teased, patting the cushion beside him. “Come on, sit down before the butterbeer gets warm.”
Thalia couldn’t help but smile as she sank onto the blanket beside him, warmth blooming in her chest that had nothing to do with the fire. George sat cross-legged, his hair catching the light as he busied himself unwrapping the food, clearly trying to avoid her gaze in a rare display of shyness.
“You… did all this?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
George glanced up, his grin widening at her stunned expression. “Well, I had a little help from the house-elves in the kitchen, but yeah. Thought you deserved a bit of peace, y’know?” He shrugged, trying to play it off casually, though his eyes betrayed a flicker of nervousness.
Thalia blinked rapidly, trying to push down the sudden lump in her throat. “George, this is… I don’t even know what to say.”
“How about ‘thank you, you incredibly thoughtful and devilishly handsome wizard’?” he teased, patting the cushion beside him.
Thalia let out a soft laugh, shaking her head as she shuffled closer to him and sank down onto the blanket. “Thank you,” she said, her voice thick with sincerity. “This is perfect.”
George handed her a glass of butterbeer, his smile softening. “You’ve been running yourself ragged, Lia. Thought you could use a break. No books, no stress, just food, firelight, and me.”
She took a sip of the butterbeer, the warmth spreading through her chest as she leaned back against the cushions. “It’s amazing. I didn’t realise how much I needed this until now.”
“Good,” George said, popping a piece of parchment-wrapped treacle tart into his mouth. “Because you’ve been worrying all of us, you know. Nova, Kristen, Fred… me.”
Thalia looked down, fiddling with the edge of the blanket. “I didn’t mean to. I just… everything feels so heavy lately.”
“I know,” George said gently, leaning forward to catch her gaze. “And you don’t have to carry it all on your own, Lia. We’re here for you. I’m here for you.”
Her eyes met his, and for a moment, the weight she’d been carrying didn’t feel so unbearable. George’s earnest expression, his silly grin, the way he’d gone out of his way to create this moment for her—it all made her feel seen, cared for, and a little less alone.
“Thank you, George,” she said again, her voice barely audible.
“Anytime,” he replied, his grin returning. “Now, eat up before I finish everything myself.”
Thalia laughed, grabbing a piece of pumpkin pasty from the nearest bowl. The pair sat in companionable silence, the warmth of the fire and the quiet hum of the common room wrapping around them like a comforting embrace. For the first time in what felt like forever, Thalia allowed herself to relax, letting the tension drain away as she shared a meal with the boy who had gone out of his way to remind her that she wasn’t alone.
As the last remnants of their picnic vanished with a flick of George’s wand, he stretched out lazily, leaning back against the sofa with a satisfied sigh. Thalia shifted closer, seeking the warmth and comfort of his presence, and curled into his side. The fire crackled softly in the grate, its golden light casting a warm glow over the room. She watched the flames flicker and dance, the rhythmic movement soothing her restless thoughts.
A faint smile tugged at her lips as she felt George’s fingers slip into her hair, gently toying with one of her curls. He tugged it lightly, watching it spring back into place, repeating the motion absentmindedly as if the simple act grounded him, too.
“Feeling any better?” he asked, his voice soft and low, as though afraid to shatter the fragile tranquility they’d created.
Thalia nodded, her fingers curling into the front of his jumper for reassurance. The fabric was warm beneath her touch, and she could feel the steady rise and fall of his chest.
“Lia,” George began hesitantly, his tone careful, “if you want to talk…” He trailed off, uncertain, as she shifted beside him.
Sensing her need for closeness, he wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her in tighter, his hand moving in slow, soothing circles over her upper arm. He didn’t push her, letting her find her words in her own time.
“Everything just feels so bleak,” she whispered at last, her voice barely audible, scared that if she spoke any louder that her voice would break and she would never be able to compose herself. She stared into the fire, its warmth doing little to chase away the chill of her thoughts.
George stayed silent, his hand never faltering in its comforting motion.
“War seems inevitable at this point,” she continued, her voice trembling slightly. “And with that comes death and loss. I lost everything once before, George. My parents, my home… everything that made me feel safe.” She paused, her breath catching as she tried to steady herself. “I don’t think I’ll survive if I lose—if I lose you, or all of this—again.”
Her words hung in the air, raw and vulnerable, as the fire crackled softly in the background. George tightened his hold on her, resting his chin lightly atop her head.
Thalia’s voice trembled as she continued to speak, her emotions practically choking her. “We’re effectively about to relive the first wizarding war. I know I’ll stand and fight for what I believe in, alongside my friends, but… at what cost?” Her voice broke slightly, and she felt the sting of tears welling in her eyes, blurring the firelight before her.
George tightened his embrace, pressing his lips gently into her hair. “Lia,” he murmured, his voice low and steady, “I can’t promise that everything will work out the way we want it to. And Merlin knows, I’m just as terrified as you. But you can’t let thoughts of ‘what if’ stop you from living now.”
He pulled back slightly, enough to look at her, his eyes earnest and filled with determination. “Make the most of this, so that when things are at their darkest, you’ve got something to fight for. Memories, joy, people who make it worth it. But one thing I can promise you…” His voice softened, a small, teasing smile creeping onto his face. “I’ll stand with you, no matter what. This war could definitely use a badger on our side.”
His attempt at humor worked, and Thalia let out a tight-throated chuckle, her tears momentarily forgotten. She nodded, her lips curling into a faint smile as she tilted her head to look up at him.
“When did you get so wise?” she teased, her voice lighter now, though her eyes still glistened with unshed tears.
George grinned, his expression playful and warm. “Hey! I’ve always been wise! You just don’t listen to my wisdom!”
She laughed softly, shaking her head. “Sure, Weasley. Whatever you say.”
“I’m serious!” he said with mock indignation, leaning back dramatically as if wounded by her disbelief. “You’re lucky to have a best friend with such infinite knowledge at your disposal, you know.”
Thalia rolled her eyes but smiled, the heaviness in her chest lifting slightly. George’s ability to balance lightness and sincerity never ceased to amaze her. As they sat together, the fire crackling softly in the background, she felt a flicker of something she hadn’t felt in weeks: hope.
Fred and the others had stumbled upon a scene that warmed their hearts—Thalia and George curled into one another, their laughter and quiet conversation filling the cozy common room. The firelight cast a golden glow over them, highlighting the rare ease in Thalia's posture and the relaxed grin on George's face.
The group paused, exchanging knowing glances and amused smiles. Fred shook his head with a dramatic sigh. “When will they realise?” he whispered, his voice dripping with mock exasperation.
Ginny stifled a laugh, and Kristen raised her eyebrows, smirking. “Probably around the same time the rest of us get tired of watching this little dance,” she quipped, earning a soft chuckle from Nova.
Unable to resist teasing them, Fred ambled over, plopping himself onto the sofa behind them. He reached out to lightly squeeze Thalia’s shoulder, leaning down to whisper, “Alright, Winterbourne?”
Thalia glanced up at him, her face glowing from the firelight, and gave him a small but genuine smile. The glimmer in her eyes, that cheeky spark they hadn’t seen in weeks, was finally back. Fred felt a wave of relief wash over him.
“I’m good,” she replied, stretching her arms above her head with a satisfied sigh. “Actually, I was just about to head out.”
“What? No!” Ginny groaned, throwing her hands up in mock protest. “We only just got here!”
Thalia laughed, her cheeks dimpling as she shook her head. “Sorry, Gin, but I’ve just eaten so much my school skirt is officially uncomfortable,” she joked, pulling at the waistband with exaggerated frustration.
George grinned, clearly pleased to see her humor returning. “Well, that’s what you get for polishing off all the rolls and dessert,” he teased.
“Excuse me, you were the one who insisted I eat!” she retorted, swatting his arm lightly.
Fred leaned back, chuckling at their banter. “You know, George, I think you might be a bad influence. Lia was a perfectly respectable Hufflepuff before you got your claws into her.”
“Oh, please,” Thalia said with mock indignation, standing up and smoothing her skirt. “I was a disaster long before George came along. He’s just taken credit for it.”
The group burst into laughter, and Thalia gave them all a playful glare that was ruined by the wide smile on her face. Suddenly her smile faded as she noticed two new faces amongst the Gryffindor group.Thalia’s initial shock melted into a warm, uncontrollable grin as she took in the sight of Nova and Kristen perched awkwardly on the arm of the sofa, their eyes darting around the Gryffindor common room like tourists in a foreign land.
Kristen gave her a tiny wave, her grin cheeky and full of mischief. “What can I say? Worry brings people together! Nova here was about ready to pull all her hair out watching you retreat into yourself, so we decided to bring in reinforcements.”
Thalia couldn’t help the wide smile that stretched across her face. Without hesitation, she threw her arms around Nova and Kristen, pulling them into a tight, heartfelt hug. “You two are the best,” she murmured, her voice thick with gratitude.
“Well, now it would just be rude for you to leave,” Ginny chimed in with an exaggerated sigh, flopping dramatically into one of the overstuffed armchairs. She crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow, clearly daring Thalia to try.
“I might have a solution, though,” Ginny added, her tone turning conspiratorial as she sprang to her feet. “Follow me, girls.”
Before anyone could protest, Ginny was already halfway up the staircase to the girls’ dormitory. Nova and Kristen exchanged bemused glances before stumbling after her, dragging Thalia along for the ride.
When they reached the dorm room, Ginny immediately began rummaging through her trunk, tossing clothes into the air with reckless abandon. “Sweatpants and jumpers for everyone!” she declared, spinning around triumphantly with an armful of comfortable, cosy clothing.
Thalia raised an eyebrow, unable to suppress a laugh. “So, I’m being held captive now?” she joked, already tugging at her tie and shaking off her school robe.
“Yep,” Ginny said with a shrug, slipping into a pair of flannel pajama trousers. “No use fighting it.”
One by one, the girls changed into the pile of mismatched clothes. Thalia pulled on a thick Gryffindor jumper and a pair of light grey sweatpants, but when she caught sight of herself in the mirror, she burst out laughing. The jumper was comically large, the sleeves flopping well past her fingertips, and the trousers had to be rolled up multiple times to keep her from tripping.
Turning to face the others, she spread her arms wide in mock presentation. The room erupted into laughter.
“I forgot you were the size of a Cornish Pixie,” Ginny teased, her grin wide and playful.
Thalia rolled her eyes but couldn’t help laughing along. “I prefer ‘fun-sized,’ thank you very much.”
Kristen flopped onto one of the beds, her laughter bubbling over. “Honestly, Lia, you look like you’re swimming in that jumper.”
Nova smiled, her arms crossed as she leaned against the bedpost. “Well, at least you look comfortable.”
Thalia shook her head, her heart swelling at the sight of her friends’ teasing grins and the warmth of their camaraderie. “Fine, fine,” she said with a mock sigh of defeat. “I guess I’m staying.”
As Thalia descended the stairs, the cozy warmth of the Gryffindor common room enveloped her like a blanket. The sound of chatter and laughter filled the space. She didn’t get far before Fred spotted her and immediately tried—and failed—to suppress a laugh.
“I don’t want to hear it,” she said, narrowing her eyes at him in warning.
Fred grinned mischievously, his laughter bubbling to the surface. “It looks like someone’s put an enlargement charm on your clothes.”
Without missing a beat, Thalia grabbed the nearest pillow and hurled it at him. The soft projectile hit him square in the face, muffling his laughter for a moment before he pulled it away, his grin wider than ever. “Alright, alright, truce!” he said, holding his hands up in mock surrender.
Shaking her head but unable to hide her own smile, Thalia returned to her spot beside George. As soon as she settled in, laying her head tiredly on his shoulder, he wrapped an arm around her, pulling her closer. The warmth of his touch and the steady rhythm of his breathing were soothing, and she felt her tense shoulders begin to relax.
The rest of the evening unfolded like a scene from a perfect memory. The group filled the room with laughter, teasing, and lighthearted banter. Fred told exaggerated stories that had everyone in stitches, Kristen and Nova joined Ginny in plotting pranks against the twins to allow them ‘to practice’ their escape methods and George chimed in with witty remarks that kept Thalia smiling.
As the hours wore on, the fire dimmed, and the room grew quieter. Thalia found herself sinking deeper into George’s side, her eyelids growing heavier with every passing moment. She fought to stay awake, unwilling to let the peacefulness of the evening slip away, but the soft murmur of voices and the gentle rise and fall of George’s chest lulled her into a sense of security she hadn’t felt in weeks.
Finally, despite her best efforts, her eyes fluttered shut, and she drifted off, her head still resting on George’s shoulder. He glanced down at her sleeping form, a soft smile spreading across his face as he adjusted the blanket draped over her.
“Looks like someone’s out for the count,” Fred whispered, his tone unusually gentle as he watched his brother carefully shift to make Thalia more comfortable.
“Yeah,” George murmured, brushing a stray curl from her face. “She needed this.”
The others nodded in agreement, their teasing giving way to quiet smiles as they watched the pair. The Gryffindor common room had taken on a hushed, almost magical quality in the late-night hours. The fire in the hearth burned low, its embers casting a warm, flickering glow that softened the edges of the room. The occasional pop of the logs and the faint rustle of blankets were the only sounds, creating a cocoon of quiet comfort.
Angelina glanced at the clock on the mantle, stifling a yawn as she stretched. "It's too late to move her now. It’s past curfew," she murmured, her voice soft so as not to disturb the sleeping Thalia.
Nova, cocooned in a blanket so thoroughly that only her eyes were visible, spoke from her cozy perch in one of the armchairs. "We’ll camp out on the sofas with her," she said, her voice muffled but resolute.
George, however, shook his head, his gaze fixed on Thalia as she slept against his side. Her face was peaceful now, her breathing steady and calm, but the dark shadows under her eyes betrayed weeks of restless nights. "I’ll stay down here with her," he said quietly, his tone firm but gentle. "I think it’ll wake her if I move. And she looks like she hasn’t had a decent night’s sleep in weeks."
The others exchanged knowing looks, but no one voiced the thoughts that passed between them. Fred clapped a hand on George’s shoulder, a rare note of seriousness in his voice. "Alright, Georgie. We’ll see you all in the morning."
One by one, the group dispersed, their whispered goodnights mingling with the crackle of the fire.George watched them go, nodding at Fred’s approving clap on his shoulder before turning his attention back to Thalia. She hadn’t stirred, her breathing steady and rhythmic, her head still resting on his shoulder.
Nova, now fully cocooned in her blanket, gave him a sleepy thumbs-up from her armchair before curling into an even tighter ball. Kristen had already claimed the longer sofa, her legs tucked under her as she dozed off.
Gently, George adjusted his position, lying back against the sofa cushions and carefully maneuvering Thalia so her head rested on his chest. She murmured something unintelligible in her sleep but didn’t wake, her hand curling slightly against his jumper.
Pulling the blanket over both of them, George let out a quiet sigh. The weight of her against him felt grounding, as though he was keeping her safe from whatever worries haunted her. He glanced down at her face, softened in sleep, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips.
The firelight flickered, casting warm shadows across the room. George’s thoughts drifted as he listened to Thalia’s gentle snores, the sound oddly comforting. For the first time in what felt like weeks, he allowed himself to relax, not worrying about the girl currently curled up in his arms. In no time his own eyes grew heavy as the warmth of the room and the steady rhythm of her breathing lulled him into sleep.
By the time the fire burned out, the two of them were sound asleep, their quiet corner of the common room a haven of calm amidst the chaos of the world outside.