The front door slams against the wall as Lupin half-guides, half-drags George into the Burrow. The warm, familiar smell of Molly’s cooking is replaced by the sharp scent of blood and singed robes. You freeze for a moment, your heart lurching when you see him — pale, grimacing, his shoulder leaning heavily against Lupin.

“Lost a bit of me on the way here,” George mutters with a weak grin, tilting his head so you can see the missing ear. “What do you think? Adds character, doesn’t it?”

You’re at his side in an instant, brushing Lupin aside to loop your arm around his waist. “Character?” you say, voice tight. “You’re lucky you still have a character.”

He chuckles, though it’s strained. “Always knew you fancied the rugged look.”

“Sit down before you fall down,” you murmur, guiding him into a chair. Molly is already bustling around for bandages, but George’s eyes stay locked on yours.

For the first time tonight, the din of voices fades. It’s just you and him. You can see it now — the exhaustion, the tremor in his hands, the truth behind his grin. And you realize he’s not joking for himself. He’s joking for you.

George lets out a breath that sounds almost like a laugh, but it catches halfway. He leans back in the chair, eyes fluttering shut as Molly fusses with the bandages. When her back is turned, his hand reaches out, brushing against yours under the table — a silent gesture, almost as if he’s making sure you’re really there.

“I’m fine,” he murmurs, but the way his voice cracks gives him away.

You squeeze his fingers. “You don’t have to pretend with me.”

His eyes open, and for the first time tonight, the mask slips. The familiar spark in his gaze is dimmed, replaced by something raw. “You know… when the curse hit me, all I could think about was whether I’d see you again.” He swallows hard, as if the admission costs him. “And I thought… maybe I wouldn’t.”

The room feels smaller now, the distant clatter of Molly’s movements muted. It’s just him, you, and the weight of what almost happened.

“I’m here,” you whisper, leaning closer so he doesn’t have to speak over the noise. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

George’s mouth curves into the faintest smile — not his usual mischievous one, but something softer, more fragile. “Good,” he says quietly, “because I’m down one ear already. Don’t think I could manage without you too.”

Before you can answer him, a loud clatter from the kitchen makes you both jump. Fred strides in, his eyes scanning George for injuries before settling on the bandaged ear.

“Well,” Fred says, his grin sharp as ever, “at least we’ll never mix up who the good-looking twin is.”

George groans. “I’m wounded, Fred. In more ways than one.”

Molly swats Fred on the shoulder as she bustles past with a steaming mug of tea. “Don’t you start. Your brother’s been through enough tonight.”

Fred smirks, but his gaze flicks to where your hand is still tangled with George’s under the table. “Ohhh, I see,” he drawls, eyebrows waggling. “That’s why he’s suddenly all soft and sentimental. Losing an ear has made him appreciate the finer things in life.”

Your face heats instantly, and George, of course, seizes the opportunity. “Can you blame me?” he says, eyes never leaving yours. “Makes a man think about what — and who — really matters.”

Fred lets out a dramatic gagging noise. “Merlin’s beard, I’m going to be sick. I’m getting Mum to separate you two before you start naming your future children.”

The moment of vulnerability between you and George is still there, tucked under the teasing, but now it’s wrapped in the familiar comfort of Weasley banter — a reminder that even in the middle of a war, some things haven’t changed.