#george;

Nina had left work a little later than she had intended to. It wasn’t something that was unusual for the brunette, who was often the first to raise her had and volunteer herself whenever there was extra work to be done. The extra pocket money was good for the Heilig clan, of course but Nina also found herself satisfied by the feeling of knowing she’d done what she could to lend an extra helping hand. If she made herself available to those in need, somebody would do the same for her when she most needed it, she thought. Wasn’t that how the world was supposed to work?

She’d been strolling at a rather leisurely pace; the ground she covered was divided into purposeful strides and lose, carefree dance moves to the rhythm of the music playing through her headphones. At least it had been, until an unusual scent tickled the inside of her nose. 

Nina stopped in her tracks, pulling one headphone out of her ear as if the added silence would strengthen her sense of smell. Was that a barbecue? Smoke? She thought to herself as she looked to the sky, brow furrowed slightly. When she dropped her gaze a moment later, a familiar figure stood in view, a ways down the street. “Georgie, hey!” she called out, delivering a subconscious wave with her words while her mind was still mostly occupied by the strange smell in their air.

“Do you smell that?” she asked, a moment before a sharp pain seared the space behind her ear, causing her hand to dart upward at a violent pace, her fingers touching her hairline. A soft ‘ow’, left her lips but before she could think about what had caused the sudden flash of pain she saw it.

got ourselves a uhhhh bi george

(please keep in mind that these pics are mostly based on my hcs for the charas & be respectful!!)

░░░░░░ ☾ he dreams. of fred, lying there in the rubble, slumped and broken. he dreams of fred’s last laugh, the way the simple widening of the lips can light up someone’s whole face. he dreams of a joke he never hears the punchline to. it is a dance of half-hearted torment.

when george wakes, his fingers uncurl slowly from their position on their side, his face angled down towards them, and they crack quietly. they almost sound like the sounds fred’s bones would make if george were to dream of them.

he pulls himself out of bed, resigning to another sleepless night. it’s normal now. voldemort is dead, but they’re only just now living out the true realities of war, as made evident by the shuttered faces at funerals and the unbelievable rage everyone has at the universe. but they must smile and praise that the war is over, then go home to a dinner table with one less place set.