XXVI
The rest of the week unfolded in a gentle rhythm, a blend of quiet routines and moments of much-needed comfort. Each morning, Professor Sprout greeted Thalia with a breakfast of soup and fresh fruit. The kind professor always lingered, her presence motherly and reassuring as she ensured Thalia ate enough and prepared for the day ahead. The mornings were spent with books and parchment, catching up on her studies and any lessons she would be missing. Though her hands still trembled slightly, she managed to write her essays and practice her spells, her determination a testament to her resilience.
Free periods and lunchtimes were a welcome break, heralded by the arrival of the twins, their energy and warmth chasing away the lingering shadows. Fred’s visits were lively and light hearted, filled with games of Exploding Snap and wizard chess. He kept the conversation light, steering it toward harmless jokes, ridiculous stories, and playful teasing. Laughter came easily when Fred was around, a temporary reprieve from the weight of her nightmares.
When George came, the atmosphere shifted. It was quieter, softer—a sanctuary within a sanctuary. Thalia found herself instinctively curled in his lap more often than not, her ear pressed to his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. His arms wrapped tightly around her. The nightmares that plagued her nights, leaving her screaming and trembling, seemed to dissipate when George was near. His gentle fingers traced soothing patterns and shapes along her arms, lulling her into a rare, dreamless sleep. He never asked questions, never pushed her to explain or relive the horrors she was trying to forget. Instead, he gave her exactly what she needed: peace.
Neither twin ever broached the subject of her ordeal. It was an unspoken understanding between them, as though they sensed the fragility of her emotional state and knew that some wounds weren’t ready to be exposed to the light.
By Friday, Thalia had begun to feel a semblance of normalcy creeping back into her days, though her hands still bore the faint tremors of the curse. That afternoon, she was curled comfortably in George’s lap, a Defence Against the Dark Arts textbook propped open in her hands. Across the castle, her classmates were learning the same theory she was now studying, though in a less cosy environment. George’s fingers combed through her hair absentmindedly, occasionally twisting a curl between them before letting it spring free. He hummed softly under his breath, a tune she didn’t recognize but found oddly comforting.
The steady motion, combined with the warmth of his body and the faint smell of peppermint and something distinctly George, was grounding. She let out a soft sigh, her muscles unwinding as she turned a page.
“You’re actually reading that?” George teased gently, a smile evident in his tone.
Thalia smirked, not looking up. “I’ll have you know I’m trying to keep up with all of my classes.”
“Sounds like a dreadful waste of time,” he joked, leaning back into the sofa. “Just work with us in the shop. You’ll learn plenty.”
“Oh, like what?” she asked, finally glancing up at him, her eyes glinting with amusement.
George grinned, pulling her closer. “Like how to charm your socks to sing whenever you take them off. Or how to make toffees that turn your tongue blue for a week.”
Thalia laughed, the sound soft but genuine, and George’s heart swelled at the sight of her smile. “Tempting,” she said, shaking her head, “but I think I’ll stick with my boring old theory for now.”
George shrugged, the movement causing her to shift slightly in his lap. “Your loss,” he said lightly, though the corners of his lips twitched upward.
The peaceful atmosphere was disrupted by the sharp sound of the door opening, revealing a frazzled-looking Professor McGonagall. Her usually immaculate bun was slightly disheveled, and a few strands of hair had escaped to frame her face. Despite her harried appearance, she didn’t bat an eye at the sight of Thalia perched comfortably in George’s lap. She had grown accustomed to the way the boy seemed to calm her, grounding her in a way nothing else could.
"Everything okay, Professor?" Thalia asked softly, her voice filled with concern as she took in the older woman’s unusual state.
McGonagall straightened her robes with a huff, brushing off her disheveled appearance. "Nothing I can't handle, Miss Winterbourne," she replied, though her tone betrayed her weariness. Quickly, she shifted the conversation. "Did you manage to finish your Alchemy assignment?"
Thalia nodded, a small smile of pride lighting her face. "I did! And I’ve sent off all my work to the respective professors for marking." She glanced at George, who rolled his eyes dramatically at her enthusiasm.
"Well done, Thalia," McGonagall said warmly, a hint of pride in her voice. Then her expression turned hopeful. "And your Defense Against the Dark Arts assignment? Did you manage to send that as well?"
George caught the subtle tension in her voice, his eyes narrowing slightly. "So, Umbridge is still sniffing around like a Kneazle, isn’t she?" he asked, his tone edged with suspicion.
McGonagall sighed, a faint laugh escaping her lips despite her frustration. "I knew I couldn’t hide anything from you two," she said, shaking her head. She blew a stray strand of hair from her face, a rare moment of exasperation breaking through her usual composure. "Yes, she’s been asking about you all day, Miss Winterbourne. She even tried to sneak into the Hospital Wing, claiming she was conducting a routine inspection. It’s becoming rather exhausting keeping her at bay."
Thalia frowned, her brow furrowing in thought. "Then I’ll go see her," she said matter-of-factly, starting to wriggle out of George’s lap. A wince crossed her face as the movement pulled at her still-healing injuries, but she persisted.
George’s hands gently but firmly settled on her hips, holding her in place. "Lia," he said, his voice low and protective, "you don’t have to do that."
"I do," she insisted, her tone firm but kind. "I can’t hide away forever. I’ll just tell her I forgot to attach my class notes and offer to let her look through them. That should get her off McGonagall’s back. If I act extra croaky, she might even believe I really have been at death’s door."
"Don’t even joke about that," George growled, his protective streak flaring.
McGonagall observed the exchange with a small smile, her sharp eyes softening. "It might be good for you to get some fresh air, Thalia," she reasoned. "You’ve been cooped up in here for nearly a week. A short walk might do you some good."
George groaned dramatically, leaning his head back in mock despair. "Minnie!" he whined, earning a chuckle from Thalia. "You’re supposed to be on my side—forcefully overprotective and all that!"
McGonagall laughed, a rare sound that lightened the room. "Mr. Weasley, I do appreciate your concern, truly. But we can’t keep Miss Winterbourne locked up in here like some wizarding version of Rapunzel!"
George’s brow furrowed in confusion. "What’s a Rapunzel? Sounds like an awful disease."
Thalia snorted, her laughter bubbling up despite herself. "It’s a Muggle fairy tale, a girl with really long hair is locked away in a tower," she explained, her voice lighter than it had been in days.
George rolled his eyes, grinning at her. "Of course it is. Leave it to Muggles to make it weird. Really long hair? Seriously?"
The laughter that filled the room felt like a release, a moment of normalcy amidst the chaos. Even McGonagall couldn’t help but smile as she watched the pair banter.
"Mr. Weasley, if you're so concerned, why don't you accompany Miss Winterbourne downstairs? Miss Winterbourne, if it gets too much, you're to return here immediately, understood?" McGonagall suggested, her tone both practical and encouraging.
Thalia nodded, climbing out of George's lap with deliberate care, her movements still slow and stiff. She gathered her work from the table, her fingers brushing over the edges of the parchment as if deep in thought. Glancing down at her attire, she flushed, realising she was still wearing George’s oversized jumper and sweatpants, her makeshift uniform of comfort and safety.
Turning to George, she tilted her head, a flicker of humor in her eyes. "Do I look sickly enough?"
George grinned, though concern lingered behind his playful demeanor. "I know the right answer is to say you always look beautiful—Mum taught me well—but you are looking a bit pale, Lia. You sure you’re up for this?" His voice was gentle as he moved to stand beside her, his arm slipping around her waist with a light, protective touch.
"I’m sure," she replied, her voice steady though her eyes betrayed a hint of nerves. She glanced toward McGonagall, who offered her an encouraging nod.
"Remember, Miss Winterbourne," McGonagall said, her gaze steady but kind, "you’re in control of this interaction. If at any point it becomes too much, you have every right to walk away."
Thalia nodded again, her grip tightening on the stack of parchment in her hands. She turned to George, who gave her one of his signature reassuring smiles. "Let’s get this over with," she said, exhaling slowly as though trying to steel herself.
"That’s the spirit," George teased lightly, though his tone carried a protective edge. "And if she tries anything, just cough in her direction. That’ll send her running faster than Peeves at Filch’s whistle."
Thalia chuckled, the sound soft but genuine, and the tension in the room eased ever so slightly. George stuck close to her side as they moved toward the door, his presence a steadying force. When Thalia hesitated a moment too long at the threshold, he reached for her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze of reassurance.
As they stepped out into the corridor, the familiar hum of the castle enveloped them. The faint chatter of students echoed in the distance, punctuated by the occasional flutter of enchanted portraits shifting in their frames. The ordinary sounds were a stark contrast to the turmoil swirling inside Thalia, a reminder that life in the castle continued, unchanged and indifferent.
The walk to Umbridge’s office stretched longer than it should have, each step reverberating through the quiet halls like the ticking of an invisible clock. Thalia’s pace was slow, each movement taxing as the ache in her ribs throbbed with each breath. George matched her step for step, his hand brushing hers occasionally as if silently reminding her he was there.
When they finally reached the ornate door of Umbridge’s office, Thalia hesitated. Her fingers hovered over the brass handle, trembling slightly. The soft pink glow of light spilling from beneath the door felt almost mocking, a sickly sweet invitation to the confrontation she dreaded.
"You’ve got this," George murmured, his voice a soothing anchor in the storm of her nerves. He leaned closer, his breath warm against her temple as he added, "I’ll be right here."
Thalia swallowed hard, drawing strength from his presence. With a final deep breath, she pushed open the door, the faint scent of tea and perfume wafting out to greet them.
Professor Umbridge sat rigidly behind her desk, her sickly sweet smile doing little to mask the predatory gleam in her eyes as she assessed Thalia and George. Her gaze lingered on Thalia’s disheveled appearance, the oversized jumper, the pallor of her face, and the slight hunch in her posture. It was clear she was savoring the perceived vulnerability before her.
"Sorry to interrupt your afternoon, Professor," Thalia croaked, her voice thin and raspy, as if every word was a struggle. The feebleness in her tone was a calculated act, but the hunch in her posture was not. Her ribs throbbed mercilessly, each breath a fresh wave of pain.
"Miss Winterbourne," Umbridge simpered, her tone dripping with false sweetness. "How nice to see you up and about. You have been quite... elusive." Her smile faltered slightly as Thalia inhaled deeply, the sound rattling in her chest like a broken bellows.
"My apologies for my absence, Professor," Thalia replied, her voice wavering. "As I’m sure you were made aware, I’ve been battling a rather awful throat and chest infection." She allowed herself a faint, pitiful cough, taking satisfaction in the way Umbridge instinctively leaned back in her chair, her eyes narrowing in suspicion.
"Yes, I heard," Umbridge said, her lips tightening as she glanced at Thalia with thinly veiled disgust. "Are you sure you should be up and about? I hardly think it’s appropriate to risk infecting the entire student body." She pulled a lacy handkerchief from her pocket and pressed it over her mouth and nose with theatrical flair.
"I heard you were looking for me, Professor," Thalia said, tilting her head with mock concern. "You made quite the scene trying to visit me in the Hospital Wing. I was worried it was urgent." Her voice was honeyed with false sincerity, and she took a small, deliberate step forward, watching as Umbridge stiffened and shrank back slightly.
"No, dear," Umbridge replied, her voice faltering for the first time. "I was merely concerned about your academic progress. But I see now, after your owl arrived this afternoon with proof that you’ve been keeping up with your studies... even in your current state. "
"Well, that’s actually why I’m here, Headmistress," Thalia said, her tone brightening as if she’d just remembered something important. "I forgot to include my class notes with the owl. I wanted to ensure you could see just how seriously I continue to take my education." She moved toward the desk, her steps slow and deliberate, and leaned down to place the stack of parchment directly in front of Umbridge.
The proximity made Umbridge visibly recoil, her eyes darting to the papers as though they might carry contagion. Thalia took a deep, rattling breath and suddenly erupted into a fit of coughs, doubling over and clutching her ribs. The act was excruciating, but the look of pure horror on Umbridge’s face was worth every second.
"Mr. Weasley," Umbridge cried, her voice high-pitched and panicked as she fumbled with her handkerchief. "If you would be so kind as to escort Miss Winterbourne back to wherever she came from. It is abundantly clear she is in no fit state to be wandering the halls!"
George stepped forward, his expression a mask of concern, though the twitch at the corner of his mouth betrayed his amusement. He wrapped a steadying arm around Thalia, playing along with the charade. "Come on, Lia," he said, his tone gentle but laced with barely concealed mirth. "You need to rest."
As they left the office, the door clicking shut behind them, they managed to keep their composure for only a few steps before turning a corner and collapsing into laughter. George leaned against the wall, clutching his stomach, while Thalia doubled over, tears streaming down her face.
"Did you see her face?" Thalia gasped between fits of laughter, clutching her ribs as she tried to catch her breath.
"I thought she was going to faint when you started coughing," George choked out, his voice loud and unrestrained. "The way she cowered away from you—it was priceless!"
"Stop," Thalia spluttered, her laughter bubbling up again despite the pain in her ribs. "Don’t make me laugh anymore. It hurts too much."
George grinned, his eyes twinkling with mischief as he steadied her with a hand on her shoulder. "Worth it, though, wasn’t it?"
Thalia nodded, her cheeks flushed from laughter and exertion. "Completely."
The quiet hum of the castle's corridors seemed to amplify the soft echo of their footsteps and the raspy pants of Thalia’s breathing as George guided her through the winding halls, after they had managed to compose themselves. At first, she kept pace, but with each passing moment, her steps grew slower, her breathing more labored. George glanced down, catching the subtle signs of her discomfort: the sheen of sweat glistening on her brow, the tight furrow of her eyebrows, and the way her teeth chewed her bottom lip as though to suppress any involuntary sounds of pain. Concern flickered across his face. He slowed his stride, finally stepping in front of her and holding out a hand to gently bring her to a halt.
"Lia, just stop a minute," he murmured, his voice soft but firm. He placed a steadying hand on her shoulder, guiding her to lean against him as she sucked in a few shallow, unsteady breaths.
"I'm alright," she groaned, though her voice betrayed the strain she was under. "Just a bit sore still."
George tilted his head, his brows knitting together in a look of gentle reproach. "Lia, you don’t have to lie to me," he whispered, his tone warm and soothing as he wrapped his arms around her in a protective embrace. "How can I help?"
Thalia hesitated, embarrassed by the weight of her own weakness. "Unfortunately, you’re not Dumbledore," she muttered, her voice tinged with frustration although she had been aiming to sound more lighthearted and jokey. "You can’t just Apparate me to my bed, so can we just stop a minute?" Her cheeks flushed slightly as she admitted her need for a break.
George’s lips quirked into a lopsided grin, a familiar mischievous twinkle lighting his eyes. "I might not be able to Apparate," he said thoughtfully, "but Dumbledore couldn’t do this. "
Before Thalia could respond, George shifted until he was standing directly in front of her. With an exaggerated flourish, he bent down slightly, patting his back in invitation. "Come on, My Lady. Hop on."
Thalia blinked at him, a laugh bubbling up despite her discomfort. "George, no," she protested, shaking her head in disbelief.
"Lia," George said, his tone turning mock-serious as he straightened up just enough to look at her over his shoulder, "as much as I’m enjoying our leisurely stroll, I’m starving. At the rate you’re walking, we’ll not only miss dinner, but breakfast tomorrow morning as well!"
Thalia snorted, shaking her head again. "You’re impossible," she said, though her voice softened with gratitude at his unrelenting determination to make her laugh.
"Impossible is my middle name," George quipped, flashing her a grin. "Now, stop arguing and climb on before I call for a stretcher or wheelchair."
Despite her initial protests, Thalia relented, gingerly wrapping her arms around his shoulders and letting him hoist her onto his back. She couldn’t help but laugh again, the sound light and genuine, as George adjusted her weight with ease.
"See? Told you I had this," he said, his voice brimming with triumph.
Thalia rested her chin on his shoulder, her laughter fading into a contented sigh. "Thanks, George," she whispered, her voice quiet but filled with warmth.
"Anytime, Lia," he replied, his tone softening. "Now hold on tight. I’m not stopping until we get back to McGonagall’s—or until I pass out from hunger. Whichever comes first."
With that, he set off down the corridor, his long strides steady and confident. The girl buried her head in the crook of his neck, trying to conceal her wide smile as he carried her through the castle; The fading sunlight streamed through the high windows, casting the pair in a golden glow.
~.~.~.~
The soft morning light filtered through the windows of McGonagall’s quarters, casting a warm glow over the cozy room. Thalia stood in front of the small mirror above the dresser, her brow furrowed in concentration as she fumbled with the knot of her tie. Her uniform was neatly pressed, her hair styled with care, but the ache in her neck muscles and the shake of her hands made the simple task of tying her tie nearly impossible. She let out a frustrated sigh, her fingers trembling slightly as she tried again.
A gentle knock on the door broke her focus, and she turned just as Professor Sprout stepped inside, her ever-present warmth and earthy scent filling the space. At first, the professor’s expression was one of her usual cheer, but it quickly shifted to surprise as she took in Thalia’s appearance.
"Miss Winterbourne," Sprout said, her voice tinged with concern. "Are you sure you’re ready for this?" Her eyes flicked to the faint bruising still visible on Thalia’s neck, the shadows under her eyes, and the slight stiffness in her posture.
Thalia straightened, meeting the professor’s gaze with determination. "I can’t stay in this room for the rest of the school year," she said firmly, though there was a quiet plea in her tone. Her hands dropped to her sides, the tie hanging loosely around her neck as she took a deep breath. "I promise, as soon as the pain flares up, I’ll come back here to rest. But sitting here and wallowing isn’t helping anymore." Her voice softened, a note of desperation creeping in. "I need a proper distraction. I need my friends."
Sprout’s eyes softened, and she stepped closer, gently taking the tie from Thalia’s hands. "Let me help you with this," she said, her voice as soothing as a spring breeze. As her nimble fingers worked the fabric into a perfect knot, she glanced at Thalia with a small, encouraging smile. "I understand, my dear. Sometimes the best medicine is simply returning to the people and things that bring us joy."
Thalia nodded, her lips curving into a faint smile as she adjusted the knot Sprout had tied, ensuring it sat comfortably over her tender neck. "Thank you, Professor," she murmured, her gratitude genuine.
Sprout stepped back, giving Thalia an approving once-over. "You look ready to take on the world," she said warmly. Then, her expression turned slightly more serious. "But remember, there’s no shame in asking for help if you need it. Your health comes first, always."
"I promise," Thalia replied, her voice steady.
Sprout’s smile returned, brighter this time. "Good. Now, let’s get you back to your friends. I’m sure they’ll be thrilled to see you."
Thalia accepted Professor Sprout’s outstretched arm with a small smile, grateful for the support. She didn’t protest when the professor slung her bag over her shoulder, the simple gesture easing some of the weight off her tender body. Together, they stepped out into the castle corridors, the faint echo of their footsteps blending with the occasional murmur of passing students.
The chatter between them was light and pleasant, filled with Sprout’s encouraging words and Thalia’s soft laughter. The warmth of the conversation acted as a balm, distracting Thalia from the lingering ache in her ribs and the faint tension in her neck. As they walked, curious stares and hushed whispers followed them, students craning their necks to catch a glimpse of Thalia. Though she noticed the attention, the professor’s steady presence kept her grounded, allowing her to focus on their conversation rather than the weight of the gazes.
The closer they got to the Great Hall, the more Thalia’s nerves began to bubble to the surface. Her grip on Sprout’s arm tightened slightly, her knuckles brushing against the professor’s sleeve. Sprout, ever perceptive, gave her hand a reassuring tap. "You’re doing brilliantly," she said softly, her tone a mixture of pride and encouragement. "You ready?"
Thalia hesitated, her wide eyes betraying her nerves. She gave a quick, almost jerky nod, taking a moment to flatten her hair and adjust her robes. She inhaled deeply, trying to steady herself, and stepped forward into the doorway of the Great Hall.
The scene before her was overwhelming at first. The room was alive with the sounds of breakfast—booming laughter, the clatter of cutlery, and the steady hum of conversation. The sheer energy of the space was electric, the noise bouncing off the high, enchanted ceiling and colliding in a symphony of chaos. Thalia paused, her gaze sweeping over the sea of students gathered at the long tables. Her heart raced as she tried to pick out familiar faces among the crowd.
For a moment, she stood frozen in the doorway, her nerves threatening to get the better of her. Suddenly, a tall figure rose from the Gryffindor table, emerging like a beacon from the sea of students. His fiery red hair caught the morning light streaming through the enchanted ceiling, and his wide grin was unmistakable. George Weasley. The sight of him sent a wave of relief crashing over Thalia, her earlier nerves melting away as her lips curled into a small, genuine smile.
George didn’t waste a second. With a burst of energy, he hopped over the bench with practiced ease, his movements so familiar it drew amused chuckles from nearby students. His hurried footsteps echoed across the hall as he weaved through the throngs of students, his long strides closing the distance between them in no time. The chatter around them seemed to fade, the hum of the Great Hall becoming a distant buzz as George approached.
When he reached them, his grin somehow widened further, his warm brown eyes scanning Thalia with a mix of joy and concern. "Well, look who finally decided to grace us with her presence," he teased, his voice loud enough to draw a few glances but soft with affection.
"Hi, George," Thalia said, her voice quieter but laced with a warmth that matched his.
Without hesitation, George reached out, his hands resting lightly on her shoulders as he looked her over. "You look... better," he said, his teasing tone faltering slightly as he took in the faint shadows under her eyes and the careful way she held herself. His brows furrowed for just a moment before his grin returned. “Though you owe me for herding that group of reprobates around all week, I don’t know how you manage to keep track of everyone!”
Thalia let out a soft laugh, her earlier tension dissolving completely. Professor Sprout, standing beside her, smiled knowingly and handed over Thalia’s bag to George. "She’s all yours, Mr. Weasley. Just make sure she doesn’t overdo it," she said firmly, though her tone carried a note of trust.
"Don’t worry, Professor. I’ve got her," George promised, slinging the bag over his shoulder and slipping his arm gently around Thalia’s waist. "Come on, Lia. Let’s get you back to the table before Fred eats your share of breakfast."
Thalia nodded, leaning slightly into his side as they turned back toward the Gryffindor table. The warmth of his presence steadying her.
As soon as they reached the Gryffindor table, Fred shuffled down the bench with exaggerated flair, making plenty of space for Thalia to sit. George helped her lower herself awkwardly onto the bench, his hand steady at her elbow until she was settled. She settled uncomfortably, wincing slightly as she adjusted, and turned her gaze to the familiar faces around her. Her friends shot her a variety of looks—relief, joy, and worry mingling in their expressions. The unspoken weight of her recent mystery absence lingered in the air, making the usual lively atmosphere feel slightly subdued.
Ginny was the first to bridge the gap, leaning across the table to gently place her hand on Thalia’s arm. "Glad to have you back, Winterbourne," she said with a smile, her voice soft but genuine. The group murmured in agreement, nodding and offering their own smiles of welcome, but the usual cacophony of conversation was missing. It was as if no one knew quite how to address the elephant in the room—or whether to address it at all.
Feeling the tension herself, Thalia glanced down as George took her hand beneath the table, his thumb moving in soothing circles over her knuckles. His touch was grounding, and she appreciated the quiet reassurance it brought.
Lee Jordan, sensing the discomfort in his usual dramatic fashion, rolled his eyes and leaned forward. "Alright, alright," he began, gesturing at Thalia with mock indignation. "How do you always manage to contract near life-ending illnesses? First that epic cold you had last term, and now you’re practically at death’s door with a throat infection!"
The group erupted into laughter, the tension shattering as Thalia let out a breathy chuckle. Though Lee had no idea just how close she had been to real danger, his humor worked its magic.
"Just because I’m better at getting out of class than you are, Jordan," Thalia retorted with a smirk, "doesn’t mean you need to be jealous."
That seemed to settle everyone. The banter flowed freely again, and Thalia felt herself melting into the familiar rhythm of teasing and chatter.
"At least I don’t sound like that eighty-year-old smoking bartender at the Hog’s Head," Lee muttered just loudly enough for Thalia to hear. She snorted in response, covering her mouth as laughter bubbled out of her.
George, sitting beside her, didn’t join in the teasing. Instead, he simply smiled, his eyes soft as he watched her laugh, her cheeks regaining some of their usual glow. He glanced across the table to Fred, who gave him a small, knowing nod. For the moment, their shared worries about Thalia seemed to ease.
Distracted by the conversation, Thalia barely noticed George stirring two sugars into a steaming mug of tea before he handed it to her, interrupting her spirited conversation about Katie’s latest crush on a seventh-year Ravenclaw boy. She looked up at him with a questioning smile, but he only shrugged. "Drink up," he said. "You’ll thank me later when you’re not croaking like a toad."
Breakfast unfolded in a comforting blur of conversation. Her friends filled her in on the week’s antics and gossip, from Peeves’ latest mischief to a prank gone wrong in the Library. Thalia was grateful to listen rather than talk, sparing her still-raspy voice and giving her the chance to soak in the normalcy she’d missed. At some point, she found herself curling into George’s side, his arm draping naturally over her shoulders. Her head rested on his chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat lulling her into a sense of security.
She nibbled on a few pastries, finished a bowl of yogurt, and picked at some fruit before the ache in her neck and ribs became too much to ignore. She stopped, pushing her plate away gently. George noticed immediately, his gaze sharpening as he scanned her face.
"Alright?" he asked softly, his voice low enough that only she could hear.
Thalia nodded, offering him a small smile. "Just… hitting my limit," she admitted, her voice quiet but honest.
George frowned, concern flickering in his eyes, but he didn’t press her. Instead, he simply tightened his arm around her shoulders, pulling her a little closer. "Let me know if you need to head back," he murmured, his tone protective but gentle.
Thalia sighed contentedly, leaning into him once more as the chatter around the table continued, her friends laughing and talking as though everything were right in the world. And for now, in this small pocket of time, it almost was.
The lively atmosphere of the Gryffindor table was shattered by the sharp, high-pitched sound of someone clearing their throat behind the group. The noise was grating, like nails on a chalkboard, and it startled Thalia so much that she spun around in her seat. The sudden movement sent a sharp pang through her ribs, and she hissed in pain, clutching her side as she came face-to-face with none other than Professor Umbridge.
"How lovely to see you among us again, Miss Winterbourne," Umbridge cooed in her sickly sweet voice, her wide, sweet smile failing to mask the gleam of malice in her eyes.
Thalia forced herself to return the smile, masking her irritation with practiced ease. "Thank you for the warm personal welcome back, Headmistress," she replied, her tone equally sugary. Behind her, she could hear Lee failing to stifle a snigger, and it took all her restraint not to join in.
"You're welcome," Umbridge replied, her smile tightening into something more predatory. Her gaze swept over the table before landing back on Thalia. "This is—I believe—the Gryffindor table, is it not, Miss Winterbourne?"
Thalia blinked, confused by the question. "That would be correct," she answered, nodding earnestly.
"Well then, dear," Umbridge continued, her eyebrows raised in mock innocence, "either the school records and your tie color are incorrect, or you are sitting at the wrong table."
Thalia felt her stomach drop, but she quickly composed herself. "Pardon?" she asked, her voice laced with genuine confusion.
"You should be sitting at your house table, Miss Winterbourne," Umbridge said, her tone dripping with condescension as she pointed her stubby finger toward the Hufflepuff table across the hall. "Over there, with the other Hufflepuffs."
From beside her, Thalia felt George tense, his body shifting as though preparing to stand. She grabbed his arm firmly, her fingers digging into his sleeve as she shot him a warning look. She had this under control.
"I'm so sorry, Headmistress," Thalia said, her voice apologetic but steady. "I've sat here all year. I wasn't aware that it would be an issue."
"Well, my school, my rules, Miss Winterbourne," Umbridge replied, her tone almost childish in its petulance.
Thalia tilted her head, feigning a thoughtful expression. "Of course! I'm just used to the faculty at this school promoting inter-house unity, that's all. It's such a wonderful tradition, isn't it? But I must admit, I do find it hard to remember all of the new school rules when they’re not posted on the wall outside with that big, shiny Ministry seal. I’m like a magpie, you see—always drawn to shiny things." She smiled innocently, her tone laced with a subtle edge of mockery.
Umbridge's face twitched, her smile faltering for a brief moment before she regained her composure. "Well then, perhaps I should rectify that for you, Miss Winterbourne. I expect to see you in your seat at dinner. Do I make myself clear?"
"Crystal," Thalia replied, her smile unwavering as she shakily rose to her feet. She gathered her bag and adjusted her robes with deliberate precision. "Now, if you’ll excuse me, Professor, I really must be heading to my first lesson. I feel as though I’ve already missed so much of my education, tardiness now would just be unacceptable."
Umbridge’s eyes narrowed slightly, but she said nothing as Thalia turned and began to walk away, her steps careful but resolute. Fred and George flanked her in an instant, their presence a comforting shield as they left the Great Hall. Once they crossed the threshold into the corridor, George moved closer, his arm wrapping protectively around Thalia’s waist. She leaned into him gratefully, her body still aching but bolstered by his quiet strength.
"I thought I was going to lose it when she started pointing those sausage fingers at you," George muttered, his voice a low growl. There was a fierce protectiveness in his tone that sent a flutter through Thalia’s chest, though she masked it with a soft laugh that turned into a wince.
"And ruin my moment? Never," she teased, glancing up at him with a cheeky grin.
George didn’t look entirely reassured. "I assume you have a plan?" he asked. "Because if not, I refuse to eat in the Great Hall for the rest of the school year."
"Seconded," Fred chimed in, swinging Thalia’s bag off her shoulder with an exaggerated flourish, helping to relieve the weight off of her . He slung it over his own with ease, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. "Picnics in the common room don’t sound too bad, honestly," he added with a shrug.
Thalia shook her head. "Nope. We’re going to be openly defiant."
George’s expression darkened with concern. "You heard what she said, Lia. She’ll just give you another detention," he said, his tone edged with worry.
"Watch and learn, boys," Thalia replied, her lips curling into a sly smile. "I’m going to teach you the art of killing someone with kindness. At dinner, make sure everyone sits on the left side of the Gryffindor table, closest to Hufflepuffs."
Fred raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "I don’t know what you’re scheming, Badger, but I’m liking that look in your eye," he said with a laugh.
George, however, didn’t share his brother’s enthusiasm. "Don’t do anything stupid, Lia," he warned, his brow furrowing.
Thalia rolled her eyes, reaching for her bag. "I need to get to Charms. I’ll see you later?" she asked, her tone light but firm.
Fred handed the bag to George before she could grab it, his grin unrepentant. "Alright," he said with a yawn. "I’m going to take a nap."
Thalia chuckled, her mood lifting slightly. "I thought you had Potions this morning?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.
Fred waved a dismissive hand. "I see my timetable as more of a suggestion," he replied, stretching theatrically before turning to George. "I’m sure Prince Charming here will walk you."
George’s expression was a mixture of annoyance and restraint as he reached for Thalia’s bag, taking it from Fred with a quick, almost curt motion. His jaw was set, and his eyes flicked to his twin with a sharpness that spoke volumes, though he said nothing. Without waiting for a response, George’s hand found Thalia’s, his fingers curling around hers with a protective firmness that contrasted with the warmth of his touch. Gently tugging her hand he began to lead her down the corridor.
Fred, ever unbothered, simply raised an eyebrow at the exchange, his grin as carefree as ever. He shrugged dramatically, turning on his heel with a casual wave. "Don’t have too much fun without me," he called over his shoulder, his voice light as he strolled away, his hands stuffed into his pockets.
George’s grip on Thalia’s hand was firm, his long strides slowing only slightly to match her pace as they moved through the bustling corridor. His mouth was set in a hard line, the usual spark in his eyes dulled by something heavier. Thalia glanced up at him, her brows knitting together in concern. His silence was unsettling, and the weight of his emotions seemed to radiate through their joined hands.
With a gentle tug on his hand, she tried to catch his attention. "Don’t mind him," George muttered, though his tone lacked its usual humor. His hand tightened slightly around hers, his warmth steady despite the storm brewing behind his expression. "He’s an idiot."
Thalia gave him a small smile, hoping to lift his mood. "I don’t mind at all," she replied softly, her voice light. "But you’re stuck with me now, Prince Charming," she added with a playful lilt.
"Could be worse," George quipped, a faint flicker of teasing in his tone. Yet the shadow on his face remained, stubbornly clinging.
Huffing in frustration, Thalia stopped abruptly, pulling him to the side of the corridor. Students bustled past them, some glancing curiously, but Thalia ignored them. Her eyes darted around until she spotted an open door leading to an empty Transfiguration classroom. Without hesitation, she tugged George inside, shutting the door behind them. The room was quiet, the faint hum of chatter from the hallway muffled now. Morning sunlight streamed through the tall windows, casting warm streaks across the stone floor.
"What’s going on, Georgie?" she asked, her voice soft but firm as she turned to face him.
George stood stiffly, his gaze fixed on a point just beyond her shoulder. His jaw tightened, the muscle twitching as he seemed to wrestle with his thoughts. The silence stretched, and Thalia’s heart ached at the sight of him so uncharacteristically troubled. Taking a steadying breath, she reached up and cupped his cheek, her palm warm against his skin. She gently guided his head down so their eyes met.
"George?" she prompted again, her tone coaxing.
His shoulders sagged slightly, the tension easing just a fraction as he closed his eyes and leaned into her touch. For a moment, he seemed to draw strength from her, his breath slowing.
"I don’t like this, Thalia," he said finally, his voice low and rough with emotion.
"Don’t like what?" she asked, her confusion evident in the tilt of her head.
"Lia," he began, his eyes opening to meet hers. The vulnerability in his gaze made her breath catch. "Your bravery and resilience are some of the things I admire most about you. But..." He hesitated, his voice faltering before he pushed on. "You’ve just come back from Merlin knows where, battered and bruised.”
Thalia’s chest tightened, her hand falling to her side as she struggled to respond. George shook his head slightly, his gaze unwavering.
"I’m not going to force you to tell me anything," he continued, his voice low and steady, though it trembled faintly at the edges. "You can tell me as much or as little as you want. But right now, it feels like you're being unwaveringly defiant, with little regard for the consequences." He paused, his eyes searching hers, the weight of his words hanging heavy in the quiet room. "I know I'm not one to lecture, not with my track record, but I can't see you hurt again. Not now, when you're only just recovering."
The raw honesty in his words hit her like a wave, warmth and guilt intertwining in her chest. She felt her heart ache at the worry etched into his expression—the tightness of his jaw, the way his brows knitted together, and the unspoken plea in his eyes. Swallowing hard, she tried to steady her breathing, but the lump in her throat made it difficult.
"I’m sorry," she whispered, her voice barely audible but laden with sincerity. She glanced down at their hands, gently taking his, her fingers trembling slightly. "I didn’t mean to worry you. I just… I just can’t sit by anymore. Not after everything." Her voice cracked on the last word, and she bit her lip, trying to keep her emotions in check.
George exhaled slowly, the sound filled with both frustration and understanding. "I know," he murmured, his tone softer now. "I get it. But standing up to her comes with consequences, Thalia—consequences that I don’t think are worth it right now." His free hand reached out, gently grabbing hers, his thumb brushing soothingly against her knuckles. "I just… I can’t lose you. Not again."
The vulnerability in his words broke through her defenses, and she felt tears prick at the corners of her eyes. She tilted her head slightly, her gaze meeting his. "You won’t lose me," she said firmly, though her voice wavered. "I promise. I’ll be more careful"
His hand tightened ever so slightly around hers, as if anchoring her to him. The silence between them was heavy but not uncomfortable, filled with unspoken emotions that neither seemed ready to put into words.
George bent down slowly, his forehead resting gently against hers. The world seemed to hold its breath as he murmured, his voice low and intimate, "I just need to know you’re taking care of yourself, Lia. That you’re letting us take care of you too."
Thalia froze, her breath catching in her throat. The warmth of his skin so close to hers made her heart pound wildly, the sound echoing in her ears like a drumbeat. Her thoughts tangled in a whirlwind, the proximity overwhelming yet comforting. Alarm bells rang faintly in her head, but they were drowned out by a single, undeniable realisation: she wanted him to kiss her. More than anything, she wanted to close the space between them.
Her gaze flickered to his lips, her pulse quickening. She felt the faintest tremor in his breath, as though he was teetering on the edge of the same decision. The air between them was charged, heavy with possibilities, their unspoken feelings filling the silence.
Before either of them could make a move, a sudden, thunderous bang echoed from the corridor, followed by a chorus of raucous laughter. The sound shattered the fragile moment like glass, and they sprang apart, startled.
George straightened quickly, his cheeks tinged with a faint pink as he glanced toward the door, his jaw tightening. Thalia stepped back as well, her face burning, a mix of disappointment and embarrassment flooding her. She smoothed her robes instinctively, avoiding his gaze as the tension from their near-kiss lingered in the air.
"Fred," George muttered under his breath, his tone a mix of irritation and resignation.
Thalia glanced at him, a small, shy smile tugging at her lips despite the interruption. "I guess some things never change," she said lightly, though her voice was still a little shaky.
George turned back to her, his expression softening as he gave her a lopsided grin. "Yeah, well, some things are worth waiting for," he said, his voice carrying a hint of something unspoken, before he reached out and took her hand again, leading her toward the door and on to her lesson.