The war had kept you apart in the cruelest way.

You had not seen George once through all of it.

Only a few letters. Short. Careful. Written as if he was afraid that saying too much would tempt fate.

You had left like he asked. You had gone to your family, far away from the fighting, far away from Hogwarts. You told yourself it was the right thing to do. You told yourself that staying alive was how you protected him too.

But when the night of the battle came, something inside you broke loose. You could not stay away. Not when every breath felt wrong without knowing if he was still breathing somewhere in the dark.

You fought where you could. You searched through smoke and shouting and stone dust. You called his name until your throat ached. You never found him.

When the war finally ended, the silence felt heavier than the noise ever had.

The grounds were littered with what remained of the night. Broken stone. Torn banners. People moving slowly like they were afraid the world might crack again if they stepped too hard.

That was when you saw him.

He sat on the stone steps outside the castle, shoulders folded inward, elbows braced on his knees. His head was in his hands. He looked smaller somehow. Like the weight of everything had finally caught up to him.

You stopped a few feet away.

“George.”

Your voice sounded too loud in the quiet.

He looked up slowly, like he was afraid of what he might see. When his eyes found yours they went wide with disbelief.

“You’re here,” he breathed.

He was on his feet in an instant, the movement so sudden it startled you. You nodded, trying to speak, trying to explain, but he crossed the space first and pulled you into him like he did not trust his own legs to hold him upright anymore.

His arms locked around you. Tight. Desperate. Real.

“I thought,” he started, his voice rough and breaking. “You were supposed to be with your family. Safe. Far away from all of this.”

You clutched the back of his jacket and pressed your face into his chest.

“I couldn’t stay away,” you whispered. “Not when I didn’t know if you…”

You could not finish the sentence.

His hand slid up to cradle the back of your head. He bent down and kissed your temple, your cheek, your forehead. Over and over. Everywhere he could reach, like he needed to feel every piece of you to believe you were real.

“You came back to me,” he murmured, pressing his forehead to yours. His breath shook. “You bloody idiot.”

A soft, broken laugh escaped him and then his eyes filled.

“I love you.”

The words settled between you like something sacred. You wrapped your arms tighter around him as the castle stood behind you in ruin and dawn slowly began to break. For the first time since the war began, the world felt quiet enough to breathe again.

Because he was here.