XX
The tension in the Room of Requirement was palpable as students stood frozen, exchanging anxious glances. All eyes were on the trembling house-elf, who cowered under his own self-reproach, muttering scoldings to himself between frantic breaths. His large, bat-like ears drooped, and his hands wrung together in agitation as if punishing himself for delivering the grim news.
"Dobby, who? Who is coming?" Harry demanded, his voice sharp with urgency as he knelt before the elf, gripping his small shoulders. He gave Dobby a slight shake, trying to focus his panicked ramblings.
"She knows, Harry Potter," Dobby squeaked, his voice rising in desperation. "She knows everything!"
Harry's face hardened, his eyes darting to the gathered crowd. Without hesitation, he spun around and shouted, "What are you all waiting for?! Run!"
The room erupted into chaos as Harry’s shout sent students scrambling for the exits. The once-lively atmosphere of the Room of Requirement now felt suffocating, filled with shouts, hurried footsteps, and the sharp clang of furniture being overturned in the frenzy. Thalia caught sight of Nova and Kristen clutching each other’s hands, following Ernie as he bellowed instructions about retreating to the Hufflepuff common room.
Before she could move, a firm hand grasped hers, anchoring her amidst the stampeding crowd. "Fred! I've got Thalia—grab Ginny and get out!" George’s voice rang out over the din, his grip was strong and reassuring, a lifeline in the swirling storm of students as he began pulling her toward the exit.
Thalia stumbled slightly as they moved, but George didn’t falter, weaving through the crowd with purpose. Along the way, they found Lee, Alicia, and Angelina, who fell into step, their expressions a mix of fear and determination.
Fred nodded at George’s words, grabbing Ginny by the arm and trying to keep pace with the group. The hallway outside was a nightmare, a narrow battlefield where DA members collided with the Inquisitorial Squad. Slytherins, smug and emboldened by their allegiance to Umbridge, barked orders and lunged at fleeing students, their wands raised and faces alight with malice. The flickering torchlight cast sharp shadows on the walls, making the scene feel even more surreal and menacing.
Thalia’s breath came in quick, shallow gasps as George tightened his grip on her hand. “Stay close!” he called, his voice low but commanding. They ducked around a corner, narrowly avoiding a binding hex that ricocheted off the stone wall. The sound of shouts, spells, and hurried footsteps echoed through the corridors, creating a disorienting cacophony.
Around them, friends and classmates fought to escape or defend themselves. Thalia caught a glimpse of Luna Lovegood, her wand steady as she cast a shield charm to protect a group of younger students. Nearby, Neville Longbottom was grappling with a particularly burly Slytherin prefect, his face set with determination.
The chaos was overwhelming, but George never let go of her hand. Together, they pressed forward, dodging spells and slipping past the grasping hands of the Inquisitorial Squad. Thalia’s heart raced, her mind focused on one singular thought: escape.
The muffled sounds of distant footsteps and shouted spells faded into the background as Thalia became aware of her surroundings. The group of Gryffindors had moved with purpose, never faltering, guiding her through the twisting corridors until they reached the sanctuary of the Gryffindor common room. The Fat Lady’s portrait had swung shut behind them, sealing them in relative safety.
As Thalia glanced around, she saw familiar faces, all panting and grim-faced: Fred, George, Angelina, Katie, Lee, Alicia, and Ginny. Their hurried escape had left them winded, but their eyes were sharp, scanning the room and each other.
"Who are we waiting on?" Fred asked, his tone clipped as he mentally ticked off names.
Thalia tried to focus, her fingers twitching as she counted. "Most of the fifth years," she said softly. "Harry, Ron, Hermione, Dean, Seamus, and Neville, I think." The names tumbled out, her voice tinged with worry.
“And everyone else from the other houses,” George added, his brow furrowed.
Thalia’s heart clenched. “Merlin, I hope Nova and Kristen got away,” she murmured, pressing her hands to her face as if to block out the awful thought of them being caught.
George was at her side in an instant, wrapping a comforting arm around her shoulders and pulling her close. “They’ll be okay,” he murmured into her hair, his voice steady and soothing.
Ginny, still catching her breath, glanced toward the portrait hole. “I’m going to wait up,” she said firmly, settling into one of the armchairs near the fire. “Maybe the stragglers will know more. Plus, we’ll get an idea of who was caught.”
A silent agreement passed through the group as they found places to sit. George sank into an armchair facing the door, pulling Thalia onto his lap. His arm encircled her waist, holding her securely as she leaned into him, her head resting against his chest. The warmth of his presence and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat offered a fragile sense of comfort amidst the storm of uncertainty.
It was clear that no one knew what to say and offering any form of reassurance would have little effect. The room fell into a heavy silence, broken only by the crackling of the fire and the occasional creak of the portrait hole as someone peeked out, hoping for news. Each passing second felt like an eternity, the weight of the unknown pressing down on them all.
It wasn’t long before the sound of hurried footsteps echoed down the corridor, and then, finally, the portrait hole swung open. Neville, Dean, and Seamus stumbled in, breathless and wide-eyed. Their clothes were disheveled, and they looked over their shoulders nervously as they entered, as if expecting someone to follow.
“Neville! Dean! Seamus!” Ginny’s voice rang out, and she jumped up from her seat, rushing to meet them. “Are you okay? What happened? Did you see anyone else?”
Seamus, his face pale, nodded quickly. “We made it out, but it was chaos. We barely got away. There’s a lot of people still in danger. The Slytherins... they were everywhere, rounding people up.”
Dean’s jaw was clenched, and his eyes were hard as he spoke. “We saw some of the others trying to escape, but we couldn’t help them. It was like the whole school was under siege.”
Thalia’s heart sank at the news, and she could feel George’s grip tighten around her. “What about Harry, Ron and Hermione? Did you see Nova and Kristen?” she asked, her voice tight with worry.
Neville looked down at the floor, his expression grim. “We didn’t see them, but they’ll be fine. They’re smart. They’ll know how to get away.”
The room fell into a tense silence as everyone absorbed the gravity of the situation. The uncertainty of who had been caught, who had escaped, and who was still in danger hung over them like a dark cloud. The fire crackled in the hearth, but the warmth of it felt distant, as if it couldn’t reach them in their current state of fear.
Ginny let out a shaky breath. “We’ll just have to wait for the others to come back. We can’t do anything until we know who’s safe.”
Thalia nodded, offering the boys a small, comforting smile as they stood there, trying to gain some composure.They were clearly at a loss, unsure of what to do next. “Come sit,” she said softly, her voice carrying the warmth of someone trying to offer solace in the midst of chaos. “You can join us if you want.”
George, his expression equally tense, glanced up at the younger boys and gave a nod of agreement. “We’re only waiting up to hear any news,” he added, gesturing to the empty seats around the group, the invitation clear in his tone.
The boys exchanged a look before murmuring their thanks, their voices barely above a whisper, and settled down into the available seats. The room, once filled with the sounds of hurried conversation and laughter, now returned to a heavy silence.
Beside her, George had fallen into a restless rhythm, his fingers drumming an absent, tuneless beat on the arm of the chair. It was a nervous habit he didn’t seem to realise he was doing, his mind clearly elsewhere, consumed by the unknown. Thalia watched him for a moment, her gaze softening as she saw the tension in his posture, the way his shoulders were slightly hunched and his lips turned down.
Without a word, she gently reached out, her fingers brushing his. Slowly, she took his hand in hers, her touch warm and grounding. She began to massage the tension from his fingers, moving with care as she felt the tightness there, a reflection of the stress and worry they were all carrying. She could feel his hand relax under her touch, the tightness easing with every gentle stroke. Her fingers moved in soothing circles on the back of his hand, offering the kind of quiet comfort that words couldn’t reach. Thalia kept her gaze on George’s hand, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath hers, the simple act of holding his hand grounding her in the chaos. She focused on the slow, soothing circles she traced into his palm, trying to calm both him and herself. She could feel his fingers tighten around hers occasionally, his body stiffening with every new sound from the hallway, but he didn’t pull away. She was grateful for that.
The minutes seemed to stretch on endlessly, the air in the room thick with uncertainty. Every so often, someone would glance at the portrait hole, as if expecting someone to burst through with news, but the minutes passed, and no one came.Thalia’s eyes flicked around the room, taking in the faces of her friends—some anxious, some lost in thought, and others like Ginny, with a quiet determination, trying to stay strong. She felt her own worry rise again, clawing up her throat.
Suddenly, two figures appeared in the doorway, their features obscured by the dim light from the hall. A collective gasp echoed around the room, and everyone surged forward, desperate for any news, any answer. The air was thick with anticipation, but the words that followed sent a chill through the group.
"They got Harry," Ron’s voice cut through the tension, his tone heavy with exhaustion and sorrow. He stepped fully into the room, his face drawn and pale. Ginny’s hand flew to her mouth in shock, her eyes wide with disbelief. George squeezed Thalia’s hand, a silent show of support, but she could feel the tension in his grip, the fear that was now rooted deep in his chest.
Hermione appeared next, her hair wild and her uniform in disarray, as though she had been through a storm. Her eyes were wide, filled with tears she hadn’t yet shed, and her hands fidgeted nervously in front of her. The sight of her—so fragile and lost—made Thalia’s heart ache. Without a second thought, she stepped forward, her arms opening instinctively as she pulled the younger girl into a tight hug.
Hermione didn’t hesitate. She clung to Thalia, burying her head into her shoulder as though the weight of the world had become too much to bear. Thalia held her close, offering what little comfort she could, her own heart heavy with the realisation that the battle was far from over. Harry would be in grave trouble.
Beside her, she could hear the twins, their voices muffled as they clapped Ron on the shoulder, their usual teasing replaced with concern. "Are you okay?" George asked, his voice softer than usual. But Thalia barely registered the words, her attention focused on Hermione, who was still shaking in her arms, comfortingly she began to run her fingers through the girl's wild hair.
“What happened?” Neville’s quiet question hung in the air, his voice trembling with both curiosity and dread. Slowly, the group guided Ron and Hermione to the sofas, everyone instinctively closing ranks, their collective fear palpable. Hermione still clung to Thalia, who kept a protective arm around her shoulders, offering silent reassurance even as her own nerves buzzed.
Ron and Hermione exchanged a glance before Hermione spoke, "He wanted to make sure that everyone got out," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper, her words laced with anguish. Her fingers twisted into Thalia’s sleeve, as though grounding herself in the fabric.Taking both of the girls hands in hers Thalia placed them in her lap, running her finger soothingly over the girls knuckles.
Ron, sensing her struggle, took over. "He stayed in the Room of Requirement until the last person was clear. Just as he was leaving, Malfoy tripped him. There was no way he was going to escape after that. The Slytherins all pounced, they were on him in an instant." His voice was heavy with anger and exhaustion, his hands clenched into fists at his sides.
"Where is he now?" Ginny asked sharply, standing up and pacing a few steps, her fiery determination clear despite the shadows of worry clouding her face.
"Once they searched the Room of Requirement, they dragged him off to Dumbledore’s office," Ron replied, his weariness evident in every syllable.
Relief flickered briefly across the group. "He’ll be fine then," Seamus said, his tone tinged with optimism, a faint smile creeping onto his face. "Dumbledore always lets him off!"
Fred’s sharp laugh cut through the momentary hope. "Umbridge won’t be happy until there’s blood in the water," he said darkly. His usual humor was absent, replaced by an uncharacteristic edge in his voice. "She’ll want to make an example of him."
"If she's going to punish him, she should punish all of us," Neville said defiantly, his voice rising with conviction. "Dumbledore's Army was about working together. We can't let him take all the blame!"
Lee was nodding his head in agreement, looking around the group with a fiery gaze.
"Nev, calm down," Dean interjected, placing a hand on Neville's shoulder in an attempt to soothe him. But Neville shrugged it off, his frustration clear as he stood his ground.
"No! We were all a part of it. That should mean something!" Neville argued, his voice trembling with emotion. His face was flushed, and his fists were clenched tightly at his sides.
"And it does, Neville," Hermione interjected, her voice steady and firm, though her eyes betrayed her exhaustion. "But if we all go in guns blazing, we’ll only make things worse for Harry. They’ve singled him out as the ringleader. For now, we wait until he comes back, when we’ve got more information we can make a plan." Her tone was finite and full of authority and reason that silenced the room. Neville looked as though he wanted to argue further, but Hermione’s words seemed to sink in. He slumped slightly, his frustration giving way to reluctant understanding.
"Hermione’s right," Ginny added, her fiery temper subdued for the moment. She flopped onto the sofa beside Hermione with a sigh, her arms crossed over her chest. "We’ve got no idea what’s going on. If we charge in blindly, we’ll just make everything worse."
The room settled into a tense silence, the weight of the situation pressing heavily on everyone. Thalia glanced around at the grim faces of her friends, feeling the same helplessness mirrored in their expressions. For now, all they could do was wait—and hope.
The group sat in heavy silence, the tension in the room palpable. No one dared to speak, their thoughts occupied by worry for Harry and the uncertainty of what awaited him. Some stared blankly into the flickering firelight, while others fidgeted with their hands or the edges of their robes. The atmosphere felt as cold and oppressive as the chill creeping into the room.
At one point, Thalia rose quietly to place another log on the fire, the flames momentarily leaping higher as they consumed the fresh wood. The warmth was welcome, but it did little to dispel the icy unease that had settled over them. Turning back, she caught George’s eye as he reached out and gently took her hand, his grip firm but comforting.
“Sit with me,” he murmured, his voice low and rough with unspoken worry. Turning to Hermione she noticed she had snuggled into Ginny, the pair holding each other comfortingly. Thalia allowed George to guide her down beside him, and as soon as she was seated, he leaned into her, resting his head on her shoulder. His eyes fluttered closed, his breathing uneven as he tried to steady himself.
Thalia’s heart ached at the sight of him so vulnerable. Gently, she began threading her fingers through his hair, her touch soft and deliberate, an effort to soothe him. Leaning in, she whispered near his ear, her voice barely audible, “You okay?”
George opened his eyes, meeting hers with a small, tired smile. “As okay as I’m going to be,” he admitted, his voice tinged with both gratitude and lingering tension.
She nodded, offering no platitudes, just the comfort of her presence. Wrapping her arms around the larger boy, she pulled him closer, holding him tightly as though shielding him from the storm of emotions swirling in the room. Returning to her gentle ministrations, she combed her fingers through his hair, her movements rhythmic and calming. For a moment, the weight of the world seemed to lessen, as he closed his eyes and lent into her touch.
By the time Harry finally appeared in the early hours of the following morning, the atmosphere in the Gryffindor common room was heavy with exhaustion and tension. Half of the group had succumbed to fitful slumber, their weariness overtaking their worry. Neville, Seamus, and Dean sat slouched against one another, their heads occasionally jerking forward before snapping back up as they fought to stay awake. Fred and Ron had each curled into themselves in the small armchairs, their legs tucked up as they slept uneasily.The rest of the seventh years, Angelina, Alicia, Katie and Lee, had spread out on the floor around the fire, seeking warmth and space to stretch out and sleep.
George, however, had nestled into Thalia, his head buried in the crook of her neck. His soft, steady breathing tickled her skin with every exhale, his arms remained tight around her waist. Thalia had remained awake, her fingers gently combing through his hair, the silky strands slipping through her fingers as she stared into the flickering firelight. The warmth of the flames and George’s body was a stark contrast to the chill of worry that still lingered in the room.
Occasionally, her gaze met Ginny’s or Hermione’s, both of whom sat wide-eyed and alert, though clearly exhausted. Ginny, unable to resist, had leaned over at one point, her voice barely above a whisper as she teased, “That might be one of the cutest things I’ve ever seen.”
Thalia had responded by sticking her tongue out at her in mock annoyance, earning silent, stifled laughter from the two girls. The brief moment of levity was a balm to the otherwise oppressive mood, though it quickly faded as they all remembered why they were there. The trio exchanged guilty glances and fell back into a tense silence, the weight of the evening pressing down on them once more.
The sound of the portrait hole creaking open shattered the quiet, and every head snapped toward the doorway. Ginny and Hermione practically launched themselves at Harry the moment he stepped into the room, enveloping him in a tight hug as they bombarded him with questions about his well being.
“Are you alright? Did they hurt you?” Hermione asked, her voice trembling as she clung to him.
Ginny’s arms were wrapped just as tightly around him. “We’ve been so worried!”
Harry chuckled weakly, though his exhaustion was clear. “I’m fine, really. Just tired.”
Thalia, unable to resist a small grin at their fussing, spoke up from her seat. “At least let the poor boy sit down before you interrogate him.”
Harry shot her a grateful smile. “Thanks, Lia.” He sank into the sofa beside Hermione and Ginny, who hovered close, their concern still evident.
The room was silent for a moment as everyone waited for him to speak. Angelina, rubbing the sleep from her eyes, broke the tension. “So, how bad is it?” she asked, her voice still thick with weariness as she glanced around at the others.
Harry exhaled heavily, the weight of the news evident in his slumped shoulders. “Dumbledore’s gone,” he said, his voice low. “Umbridge is Headmistress now.”
Gasps rippled through the room like a shockwave. “What?” Fred blurted, leaning forward in his chair. “Gone? What do you mean, gone?”
“They tried to take him to Azkaban,” Harry mumbled, his voice barely above a whisper. “Said he was inciting an uprising against the Ministry.”
“What? How did those morons jump to that conclusion?” George snapped, his tone brimming with anger.
“He’s in Azkaban?” Ginny squeaked, her voice high-pitched with alarm.
Harry shook his head. “He managed to escape before the Aurors got to him—literally burst into flames. Fawkes must’ve helped him. One second he was there, and the next, gone.” He ran a hand through his hair, the frustration etched deeply into his features. “But he took the blame,” he continued, his voice cracking slightly. “They found the register with all our names—‘Dumbledore’s Army’ written right at the top. They know everyone who was involved.”
His gaze swept over the group, finally meeting their eyes. His emerald eyes glistened with regret. “We’re all being called for detention tomorrow,” he said, the words landing like stones in the room’s heavy silence.
Beside Thalia, George tensed, his jaw tightening as his fingers unconsciously traced the faint scar on the back of her hand. She felt his anger simmering beneath the surface, and it mirrored her own swirling emotions.
“I’m so sorry,” Harry whispered, his voice barely audible, the guilt weighing him down.
Thalia, still reeling from the implications of what this meant for all of them—and what it meant for her when her grandfather found out—spoke softly. “We all knew what we were getting into, Harry. This isn’t your fault.”
“She’s right,” Dean chimed in, nudging Neville with a teasing grin. “Neville here was determined we should all be in trouble, not just you.”
Neville flushed but didn’t argue, and Alicia nodded firmly. “We all signed up for this. We’ve got to deal with the consequences.”
“I don’t regret it, though,” Thalia said, her voice steady as she glanced around the room, taking in George’s clenched fists and Harry’s bowed head. “I’ve learned more in the last few months than I have in the last few years of formal Defence classes. I achieved more than I could ever have imagined, cast some of the hardest spells known to wizard kind. That’s all thanks to Harry and Dumbledore’s Army.”
Her words hung in the air, a small spark of defiance and pride amidst the uncertainty. The others nodded in agreement, some mumbling in solidarity. The group's resolve began strengthening as they realised that, despite the looming punishment, they had achieved something remarkable together. George pulled Thalia closer, his arm tightening around her as he pressed a gentle kiss to the crown of her head. A small smile played on his lips.
“I agree with Thalia,” Neville said, his voice breaking the silence. “I could barely stun a fly before I started.” His laughter rang out, and the others couldn’t help but snigger at his honesty.
“Truly, thank you, Harry,” Thalia added, her voice warm as she looked at the blushing boy. Her smile was genuine, a show of gratitude that seemed to ease some of the weight from Harry’s shoulders.
“We signed up together,” George said, his tone light but resolute. “And we’ll all go down together.” His quip drew chuckles from the group, a brief reprieve from the heaviness that had settled over them.
The laughter lingered, soft but genuine, a shared moment of unity that reminded them all why they had joined the DA in the first place.
Fred stretched dramatically, his grin mischievous as he announced, “And on that note, we should probably head to bed. I want to be well-rested for the pink toad tomorrow—I fully intend to give her hell.”
The group erupted into laughter, their spirits briefly lifted by his humor. One by one, they stood, tossing playful goodnights over their shoulders as they made their way toward the dormitories.
Thalia lingered, stretching her arms above her head before glancing around the now-empty common room. The fire cast a warm glow, the only sound the occasional crackle of the logs. Spotting a few pillows and a blanket nearby, she gathered them up and turned back to the sofa in front of the fire.
George, still seated and watching her every move, raised an eyebrow. A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. “What are you doing, Winterbourne?” he asked, his tone amused.
“Making up my bed for the night,” she replied matter-of-factly, fluffing a pillow. “I imagine the whole castle is on high alert after tonight, and I don’t fancy sneaking back downstairs. If that’s alright with you?” Her confidence wavered slightly as she glanced at him, suddenly worried she might be overstaying her welcome.
George’s smirk faded into a frown, his eyes softening with concern. “You’re not going to sleep properly down here under a thin blanket, and in your uniform no less. And I don’t like the idea of you being here alone—anyone could tell on you.”
“I’ll be fine, Georgie,” she said with a small shrug, attempting to reassure him. “I’ve done it before.”
“That doesn’t mean you should do it again,” he replied firmly, his concern etched into his features.
She sighed, her shoulders slumping. “I suppose I’ll take my chances and sneak back, then,” she said, turning on her heel with a tinge of disappointment.
“That’s not what I meant, you idiot,” George laughed, catching her hand and pulling her back toward him. She stumbled slightly, landing against his chest as he wrapped his arms securely around her. “We can’t have you getting caught after curfew.”
“Then I’m too tired to comprehend what you’re saying,” Thalia groaned, leaning into him, her head resting against his chest.
George tightened his hold, his voice soft as he rested his chin on her head. “Come upstairs with me,” he murmured.
Thalia stiffened slightly, pulling back to look up at him, her expression a mix of shock and confusion. “George…”
He laughed, shaking his head. “I’m not propositioning you, Thalia, don’t worry,” he teased, his grin returning. “But you’ll sleep better in an actual bed. Tomorrow is already going to be hell—don’t make it worse by being exhausted.”
Thalia hesitated, biting her lip as she tried to reason with him, though her heart was pounding so loudly she was sure he could hear it. “George, I’m going to be in ten times more trouble if I’m caught upstairs,” she said, her voice quiet but firm.
George’s expression didn’t falter. His grip on her hand tightened slightly as he stared at her with that trademark Weasley stubbornness. “Who’s going to tell?” he countered, his tone resolute. “Fred? Lee? They aren’t going to care. They’ll probably just tease us and then go back to sleep.”
She opened her mouth to argue, but his unwavering confidence made her pause. He gave her a small, reassuring smile, his thumb brushing over her knuckles. “Look, Thalia, it’s not like you’re sneaking into the boys’ dormitory to cause trouble. You’re exhausted, and you need rest. I’d rather you get some proper sleep than worry about rules that don’t even matter right now.”
Her resolve wavered as his words sank in, and she couldn’t deny the logic behind them—or the warmth spreading through her at how much he cared. “You never worry about the rules, you’re impossible.” she muttered, shaking her head, though a small smile tugged at her lips as he let out a barking laugh.
“And you’re stubborn,” he shot back with a grin, gently tugging her toward the staircase. “Come on, Winterbourne.”
She rolled her eyes but allowed herself to be led upstairs, her heart still pounding as she muttered under her breath, “This better not get us both expelled, Weasley.”
George chuckled, his voice light and teasing. “If it does, at least we’ll go down together.”
“I suppose it can only get worse,” Thalia tried to joke, though her voice wavered as the familiar weight of dread settled back into her stomach.
“Hey, I’ve got you,” George said softly, his tone steady and reassuring as he gave her hand a gentle squeeze.
The journey to his dormitory was quiet, their footsteps muffled against the worn stone steps. When they reached the door, George carefully pushed it open, peeking inside before gesturing for her to follow. The room was dimly lit by the soft glow of the enchanted cauldrons bubbling in the corner, casting flickering shadows across the walls. Two of the four-poster beds had their curtains drawn tightly, their occupants likely fast asleep.
The rest of the room, however, was a chaotic mess. Discarded clothes and parchment littered the floor, while the desk groaned under the weight of books, crumpled notes, and an assortment of wrappers. George’s trunk sat open at the foot of his bed, its contents spilling out in a jumble of socks and Quidditch gear.
Thalia raised an eyebrow at the state of the room, her expression caught somewhere between amusement and judgment. George caught her look as he rummaged through his trunk, pausing to give her a sheepish grin. “Boys are slobs,” he whispered with a shrug, his voice light with humor.
Finally, he stood up, holding out a pair of his pajama trousers and a soft, worn T-shirt. “These won’t fit you properly, but they’ll be more comfortable than your uniform. You can change in the bathroom—just through there,” he added, pointing to a door on the other side of the room.
Thalia took the clothes with a quiet thanks and slipped into the bathroom. The small space was tidy, with a faint herbal scent lingering in the air—likely from one of the potions bubbling outside. She quickly pulled her curls into a messy bun, muttering a mouth-cleaning charm to freshen up. Changing into George’s clothes brought a small chuckle to her lips. The T-shirt hung loosely, brushing against her knees, and she had to tie the pajama trousers tightly at the waist to keep them from slipping down. The cuffs pooled around her feet, nearly tripping her as she moved.
Catching her reflection in the mirror, she took a deep breath, trying to calm the fluttering in her chest. This wasn’t how she had imagined her evening ending, but there was something oddly comforting about it. Shaking her head, she opened the door quietly and stepped back into the room.
George stood in the middle of the room, dressed in plaid pyjama bottoms and a chudley cannons t-shirt, looking slightly awkward as his gaze wandered around aimlessly. When he noticed her, he smiled softly. “I’ll just go brush my teeth,” he whispered, pointing to his bed near the window. “That one’s mine.”
Thalia nodded, padding over to the bed and sitting on the edge. The mattress dipped slightly under her weight as she perched there, unsure of what the sleeping arrangements would be. She tried to reason with herself—she’d fallen asleep on George’s shoulder plenty of times, even snuggled up with him in the common room one night. This was no different, she reminded herself firmly, chastising the shy nerves that bubbled in her stomach.
The soft creak of the bathroom door and the sound of running water filled the room as she leaned back slightly, her fingers idly tracing the embroidered edges of the blanket.
George returned a few minutes later, his hair slightly damp from splashing water on his face, and he paused in the doorway when he saw her sitting on the edge of his bed. His oversized clothes swallowed her petite frame, and despite the tension of the evening, he couldn’t help but chuckle softly.
“Well, don’t you look adorable,” he teased, his voice light but warm.
Thalia rolled her eyes, though a faint blush crept into her cheeks. “Your clothes are ridiculous,” she retorted, gesturing to the way the trouser legs pooled around her feet. “I feel like I’ve raided a giant’s wardrobe.”
He grinned, walking over and sitting down beside her on the bed. “You wear it well, though,” he said, nudging her shoulder playfully.
She shook her head, smiling despite herself, and glanced out the window. The moonlight spilled into the room, casting a soft glow over everything and momentarily easing the weight of the day. For a moment, they sat in silence, the distant bubbling of the cauldrons and the muffled snores from the other beds the only sounds in the room.
George broke the quiet, his voice softer now. “You alright?”
Thalia turned to look at him, his expression open and earnest, his brow furrowed with concern. She nodded, but the tightness in her chest betrayed her. “I’m fine,” she said, though her voice wavered slightly. “Just...everything…”
“I know,” he replied, his tone serious now.
His words were simple, but they settled something inside her. She leaned into him, resting her head against his shoulder. “Thanks, George,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.
He rested his cheek against the top of her head, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “Always,” he said firmly.
George shifted slightly, his movements slow and deliberate, as he lifted the duvet and patted the empty space beside him. "In you get, Winterbourne. Try and get some sleep," he said, his voice low and soft, his eyes watching her with a tender, almost protective gaze. He couldn’t help but smile as he saw her relax, her body sinking into the warmth of his pillow, her face softening with the relief of finally being able to unwind.
Thalia blinked sleepily, her hand instinctively reaching for his. "Where are you going to sleep?" she murmured, her voice thick with exhaustion, her fingers curling around his.
George chuckled quietly, brushing a stray curl from her face, his touch gentle. "I can sleep on the floor?" he whispered, his eyes twinkling with the hint of a joke.
"George, I can't steal your bed!" Thalia exclaimed, her eyes wide with surprise, and she immediately tried to sit up, feeling guilty. But George gently pushed her back down, his hand resting lightly on her shoulder.
"Can you stop being so stubborn?" he laughed, his voice warm and reassuring.
Thalia yawned, her eyes fluttering closed again. "Only if you sleep there," she said, pointing to the other side of the bed with a sleepy smile. "You promised you weren’t going to proposition me, so laying next to each other can’t hurt," she teased, her voice soft but playful. She couldn’t help but laugh at the blush that quickly spread across George’s cheeks, his embarrassment a welcome distraction from the weight of the day.
"As long as you’re sure," he said, his voice still tinged with a hint of nervousness as he climbed into the bed on the opposite side, pulling the covers up around him.
For a long moment, they lay rigid, the space between them palpable, as if neither of them wanted to encroach on the other's personal space. The tension in the room was almost suffocating, and Thalia, after a few seconds of trying to force herself to relax, sighed in resignation. She was tired of the awkwardness, tired of the distance, and she knew she had to be the one to make the first move.
Rolling onto her side, she snuggled closer to him, her body seeking the warmth of his presence. It was as if the world had narrowed down to just the two of them, the soft rise and fall of his chest beneath her head, the steady rhythm of his breathing lulling her into a sense of safety.
After a moment, George’s arms wrapped around her, pulling her in protectively, his embrace offering a quiet comfort that she hadn’t known she needed. His body was warm and solid, a grounding presence in the midst of the uncertainty of the night.
"This okay?" he asked, his voice nervous, but his arms tightening just slightly around her, as if seeking reassurance that this was what she wanted.
Thalia didn’t answer with words. Instead, she just nodded, her face pressed against his chest, her eyes fluttering shut as the steady beat of his heart became the only sound she could focus on. She didn’t want to break the peace that had settled between them, the sense of calm that had finally found its way into the room.
Her eyelids grew heavier, the weight of the day and the emotional toll of the night threatening to pull her under. Just before she drifted off, she heard George’s voice, low and almost inaudible, mumbling under his breath. "You’re going to be the death of me, Winterbourne."
A light kiss was placed on the top of her head, the softest of touches, but it sent a wave of warmth through her chest. For the first time that night, everything felt right. The world outside might have been chaotic, but in this moment, in this room, everything was still. Peaceful. Safe.
And with that thought, she allowed herself to drift into sleep, wrapped in the warmth of George’s arms, the weight of the world momentarily forgotten.