6. midnight

It had been nineteen days since she'd left Hogwarts.

Nineteen days since she saw the castle's spires vanish behind her in the distance, her heart pounding, throat raw, hands trembling in her lap as the carriage took her away.

Nineteen days of silence. Of isolation. Of punishment.

Her bedroom was barely hers anymore.

The walls were the same, painted in cool tones of green and grey. Her books were still stacked neatly on the shelf. Her bed was made, her desk untouched, but the air was different. Stale. Cold. Like the room had stopped belonging to a person and now existed only to hold her.

She wasn't allowed to leave it without permission.

Meals were brought to her but their house-elf who didn't speak. Not out of rudeness, she wasn't allowed to. And even if she managed to slip into the hall for a few stolen seconds of freedom, there were always eyes on her. Always ears.

The door didn't lock, but it might as well have.

She stood by the window most days, watching the grey skies and empty grounds below. She wasn't allowed her wand. No contact with Hogwarts. Her father had forbid Theo from reaching out to her. No contact with the outside world at all.

And worst of all, no contact with him.

She winced, her fingers ghosting over the bruise that still lingered, faint yellow now beneath her skin, like the last dying remnants of a fire. It had been darker, crueler, when she first arrived. Her father hadn't said a word when she stepped through the front door—just looked at her, eyes unreadable. Then, without ceremony, without raising his voice, he'd struck her.

Once. Twice. Three times.

No shouting. No rage. Just cold disappointment.

"You've humiliated this family," he'd said, voice like ice cracking under weight. "You will not speak to him or any Weasley again. Do you understand me?"

She hadn't answered fast enough. The fourth strike left her bleeding.

"Do you understand me?"

"Yes, Father."

He hadn't spoken to her since.

Talwyn curled her knees to her chest, sitting on the wide windowsill, her breath fogging the glass as she stared out. Her reflection looked hollow, skin paler than usual, dark circles under her eyes, lips chapped. She looked like someone else. Someone who'd forgotten how to feel anything but fear.

But despite the bruises and the silence, it wasn't the pain that hurt the most.

It was missing him.

George.

His name felt dangerous in her mind, like it might echo off the walls and summon her father to her door again. She hadn't spoken it aloud since she left, but it lived under her tongue. It scratched at the back of her throat at night when she tried to sleep. It haunted her dreams, soft smiles and warm eyes and that way he said her name like it meant something.

She wished she'd kissed him.

She wished she'd run.

She wished she'd fought.

But she didn't. And now she was here, behind invisible bars, her heart still bleeding for something she wasn't allowed to have.

Her fingers traced a crack in the wall that she'd memorized by now, when she noticed something strange.

A flutter.

So soft it could've been imagined. But there it was again.

Her heart thudded. She sat up slowly, eyes flicking to the window.

It was open, barely. Just the smallest shift in the latch, but it was enough.

Her breath caught as a shape moved just beyond the glass.

A tiny owl- brown, speckled, unfamiliar- swooped down clumsily, landing noiselessly on the sill. It blinked at her with intelligent, urgent eyes, and Talwyn was frozen in place.

The owl tilted its head, then extended its leg.

A scroll. No ribbon, no seal, just parchment tied with twine.

Her hands were shaking as she reached out, untying it quickly, afraid someone might come in and see.

She unfolded the letter.

It wasn't long.

~

Be ready by midnight. Have a bag packed.

-G

~

Her lungs refused to work for a moment. She read it again. And again.

She didn't imagine it.

He'd found a way to reach her.

Her fingers clenched the parchment so tightly it crinkled. She stared at the little owl, it waited only a second longer, then took off silently into the night.

Talwyn's heart slammed in her chest.

Midnight.

She looked over her shoulder, listening.

Nothing. The same oppressive silence.

She couldn't pack a bag. She couldn't leave. Her father would find a way to find out before it even happened. Even if she did manage to escape, her life would be in more danger than it already was. 

For a second, her legs didn't move. Her body was stuck in that numb, heavy place she'd existed in for weeks, still afraid. Still trapped.

He's coming for you.

Midnight.

Fuck it.

Suddenly, she was on her feet.

She opened the wardrobe and grabbed the old bag tucked in the back corner. Her hands moved quickly, stuffing it with essentials. Clothes. A few personal things. A worn photo of her and Theo, laughing in their second year. A book George once mentioned loving. Her wand, well, a wand. She'd stolen it from one of the older guest rooms when no one was looking. It wasn't hers, but it would have to do.

The whole time she moved, a single thought played on loop in her head:You're leaving. You're actually leaving.

And for the first time in weeks, she felt something that wasn't dread.

Hope.

After finished packing her bag she tucked it away in the back of her closet under some laundry, hiding it until the moment was right. Just as she sat back down on her bed there was a knock on her door. 

Without waiting for an answer, it opened. 

"I'm off to bed," Her father said with a sigh. "Tomorrow the Malfoy's will be coming for another meeting. I hope you make the right choice and behave well this time." 

He closed the door harshly without waiting for her response. 

Hopefully this escape works because she would rather be beaten for the rest of her life then sit through another meeting with Draco and his family. 

She looked over to her clock. 

One more hour. 

:۞:••:۞:••:۞:•✧◈✧•:۞:••:۞:••:۞:

Talwyn had dozed off.

She hadn't meant to. She'd been sitting upright on her bed, heart pounding with anticipation. But the exhaustion of the last few weeks had finally caught up to her, and her eyes had closed without her permission.

She woke to a soft thunk.

Then another.

She blinked, heart leaping into her throat, jolting upright. The room was dark, but moonlight spilled in from the window.

Thunk.

She scrambled to her feet, grabbing her wand. Her breath caught as she heard a faint voice, muffled through glass but unmistakable.

"-I told you we should've gone higher-"

"Shut it, Fred, I had to fly around a bloody owlery and dodge two patrols-"

Talwyn blinked, stepping cautiously to the window. She peeled the curtain back and stared in disbelief.

Floating right outside her window, just barely hovering above the ground, was a beat-up blue car.

The door on the passenger side was open, and Fred Weasley was hanging halfway out of it, grinning like a madman.

"Evening, Princess," Fred said with a cheeky wink. "Care for a late-night ride?"

Behind the wheel, George sat, his expression serious but eyes alight with the kind of reckless, determined fire that made her chest ache. He didn't speak, he just looked at her like he needed her to move.

"As much as I love looking at you, you need to move." George finally spoke. 

Talwyn gaped for half a second longer, then launched into motion.

She grabbed her bag, heart slamming in her ribs, and shoved the window open the rest of the way. The cold air hit her full in the face, but she didn't care. Her limbs shook as she hoisted herself up onto the sill.

Fred reached out to help, catching her arm as she clambered into the car, graceless and trembling but free.

As soon as she was in, George turned around in his seat to look at her. She couldn't speak, she just stared at him, trying not to cry.

"You ready?" he asked softly.

She nodded.

Fred slammed the car door shut, and George threw the flying Ford Anglia into gear. The engine roared quietly, and the car rose smoothly into the air.

Behind them, the manor shrank into nothing but a shadow.

Talwyn looked over her shoulder once, just once, at the house that had kept her silent and bleeding and terrified for weeks.

And then she turned away from it forever, or at least that's what she hoped. 

Fred leaned over the seat with a grin that was far too smug given the circumstances. "You know, your dad's going to love this."

"Shut up, Fred," George muttered without looking at his brother. He turned in his seat, eyes locking with Talwyn's again. "You okay?"

Talwyn drew in a shaky breath that rattled through her chest. It felt like the first real breath she'd taken in days, maybe even weeks. "Not yet," she whispered.

The car flew in silence for a while after that, the engine humming softly beneath them, the wind whipping gently through the cracked window. Talwyn leaned her head against the cool glass, watching the world pass beneath her. Forests. Farmland. The occasional sleeping village. It was like looking at freedom itself.

She had been staring out the same window in her father's house for what felt like an eternity. The trees there never moved. The sky never changed. But this- this was moving, breathing, living.

After a while, a crooked little house appeared in the distance. It leaned slightly to one side, as though it had been stacked together by a madman with too many spare rooms and not enough sense. It looked utterly bizarre.

And completely perfect.

George began lowering the car, easing it carefully toward a patch of dirt beside the tall grass. The tires hit the ground with a gentle bump. The moment the car stopped, George unbuckled and climbed out. But Talwyn couldn't move. Her muscles were frozen, her fingers curled tightly around the edge of her seat. Her heart pounded in her throat, the rush of adrenaline still keeping her limbs stiff.

George came around the car and opened her door, crouching slightly so they were eye to eye. He didn't say anything. Just offered his hand.

She hesitated, just for a second. A shadow of her father passed through her mind, the fear creeping in like smoke. But George was still there. Warm. Steady. Real.

So she took it.

Her hand was cold in his, and she stepped out slowly, her legs wobbling slightly beneath her. She reached for her bag, but George was already slinging it over his shoulder like it weighed nothing.

"Alright," he said quietly, nodding toward the looming house. "We have to whisper when we get in."

"Mum and Dad don't know we're here," Fred added in a hushed voice, sounding almost proud of that fact. "Or that we took the car. Or, y'know, about you."

George glanced sideways at him with a warning look before continuing. "We're going to floo back to the Three Broomsticks, then walk the rest of the way to the castle. Should be quiet by now."

Talwyn swallowed hard, her voice barely audible. "My father... he'll find out I'm there. He'll come."

George stopped walking and turned to face her fully, his expression serious and open. "Talwyn. You have to tell Dumbledore."

"I-" she began, but the words faltered.

Fred cleared his throat as they approached the rickety door. "We can't think about that now," he said, oddly gentle for once. "We need to move quickly. In, out, and no one dies. Easy."

But before they could even step inside-

"Where have you been?!"

The voice struck like a curse. Loud, piercing.

The twins froze. Talwyn jumped.

Molly stood at the bottom of the staircase, wrapped in a faded dressing gown, wand in one hand, the other planted firmly on her hip. Her hair was wild, and her eyes burned with fire.

"You stole the car?!" she shouted, stomping toward them. "Hadn't learned your lesson from last time? You came here and vanished in the middle of the night and didn't leave so much as a note, and what is this girl doing with you?!"

"Mum, wait-" George started.

"Don't you 'Mum' me, George Fabian Weasley!" she snapped, coming to a halt just in front of him. "You're lucky I don't hex you both right here... and you," she said, looking at Talwyn now, "who are you, and what's going on here?"

Talwyn shrank slightly under Molly's gaze. The woman was intense, fiery- but there was a strange sort of warmth under the anger. 

She wasn't cruel. She was... concerned.

"I'm Talwyn Nott," she said quietly. "I'm... I was at school with your sons. But... my father pulled me out. He... he didn't want me going back."

Molly narrowed her eyes. "A Nott? And why would you two risk expulsion and possibly death to bring her back?"

"She needed help," George said firmly.

Fred nodded. "You'd understand if you saw what we did."

Talwyn shifted slightly in the dim light of the entryway, and that's when Molly finally noticed.

The sleeve of Talwyn's sweater slipped a little off her shoulder as she moved, revealing the faint outline of a bruise, one that hadn't yet faded. Her cheekbone had the shadow of another. Small signs. Easy to miss.

But not for a mother.

Molly's expression changed in an instant. Her mouth parted slightly, her breath catching—not in shock, but in recognition. Like the bruises told her a story she already knew all too well.

"Talwyn," she said, her voice suddenly soft, tender in a way that made Talwyn's chest ache.

Talwyn's throat tightened. She glanced down, instinctively tugging her sleeve over the bruises, hiding them even though it was too late. Her cheeks burned in shame.

Molly stepped forward carefully, still not touching her, but standing close enough that her voice dropped to a gentle murmur. "I know your father," she said quietly, and it wasn't an empty statement—it was heavy, knowing, filled with a quiet, sharp rage.

Then her face twisted with horror and fury as it truly hit her. "He hurt you," she whispered. "And you were trapped in that house alone."

Fred and George both turned sharply, their movements no longer casual. George's face had drained of color. He stepped forward slowly, his voice barely audible. "Tal..."

She didn't meet his eyes.

There was a long, tense beat of silence.

Then Molly took a breath, steeling herself. She squared her shoulders, voice taking on a firm, no-nonsense tone that reminded Talwyn suddenly of McGonagall, except warmer. Fiercer. Protective.

"Alright," she said briskly. "You're not going back there. Not ever. You'll stay here until we figure out what to do. No arguments."

"But the school-" George started.

"Dumbledore will understand," Molly interrupted. "I'll owl him first thing in the morning. And you two" -she pointed firmly at her sons- "are staying here as well. No disappearing acts. I'm owling Ron and Ginny to come home too."

"Wait, you're calling them back?" Fred asked, confused.

Molly nodded. "If the Nott family's pride is bruised, then we may already be on their radar. If they think this girl-" she glanced at Talwyn with softened eyes, "-means something to this family, and they want to punish her for escaping, they may not stop at just her. I want us all here. Together. Safe."

Fred opened his mouth, then closed it again. "...Right."

"Mum..." he added a little sheepishly, "I'm sorry we stole the car."

Molly turned her head slowly toward him, her look speaking volumes. "Yes. And we'll talk about that later. Loudly."

Fred visibly winced. "Knew that was coming."

She turned back to Talwyn, her expression changing again, now full of warmth and fierce compassion. "Come inside, dear. I'll get you a warm blanket and some tea. You need rest more than anything right now."

Talwyn blinked hard, swallowing the lump in her throat as she followed Molly into the house. Her legs moved automatically, but inside, everything still felt too big to process. And yet... for the first time in weeks, she felt just a little bit safe.

"You can stay in Charlie's old room," Molly said as they reached the stairs. "He hasn't been home in ages. Off with dragons, that one."

Talwyn nodded quietly, glancing around at the mismatched furniture and picture frames crowding the walls. Everything here felt lived in. Alive.

She hesitated a moment, then asked, "How many children do you have?"

Molly huffed a small laugh as they climbed the stairs. "Seven. Six boys, one girl."

Talwyn raised an eyebrow. "Must be a loud house... if they're all anything like the twins."

Molly giggled, a sound that felt too rare and too precious in the quiet night. "They're my loudest ones, for sure. But they're good boys."

They reached a small, cozy room with a slanted ceiling and faded posters of dragons on the walls. It was messy, clearly lived-in, but not dirty. It smelled like old wood and warm sheets.

Molly waved her wand, tidying up a bit and setting a thick quilt on the bed. "There. Cozy enough?"

Talwyn nodded and moved to sit down, gingerly at first. Her whole body still ached. Molly sat beside her, not saying anything for a moment.

"I assume you're an only child?" she asked gently.

Talwyn shook her head. "No. I have a twin brother. Theodore, Theo."

Molly tilted her head slightly. "Where is he?"

Talwyn nodded again, eyes lowering to her hands. "Still at school... I miss him. We fought a bit the last time I saw him, I regret it."

She hesitated, then quietly added, "I'm so sorry. This is all my fault."

A tear slipped down her cheek, hidden by her hair. She didn't think Molly noticed.

But she did.

Molly reached over and gently tucked the strand of hair behind her ear. "What happened, dear?" she asked, soft but steady.

Talwyn stared at her for a second, eyes wide, scared- but something in Molly's gaze told her it was okay to speak.

"He's trying to court me off," Talwyn whispered. "My father. He wants me married as soon as possible. He set me up with Draco Malfoy."

Molly didn't speak, just let her continue, but her body language showed that she knew enough about the Malfoy family.

"I rebelled," Talwyn said bitterly. "Or that's what he'd say. But I..." She trailed off, then forced herself to finish. "I let George get too close. Draco saw. Told my father. And he-" She couldn't finish.

Molly's arms came around her then, gentle but firm, pulling her into a hug that felt so foreign and so achingly needed, Talwyn couldn't breathe for a second.

"You're safe now," Molly whispered fiercely into her hair. "You hear me? He's never going to hurt you again."

Talwyn closed her eyes, leaning into the embrace.

She hadn't realized until now just how much she missed her mother. Missed being held. Not just protected, but seen.Cared for. Theo looked out for her, yes—he always had—but he was still just a boy trying to survive the same hell she was. He couldn't give her the comfort she craved deep in her bones. Not the way a mother could.

And hers was gone.

Her heart throbbed painfully with the memory. It wasn't something she often let herself think about, because when she did, it brought her to her knees. Her mother hadn't wanted this life. She hadn't wanted to bow to the Dark Lord. She had higher standards, stronger morals. She had tried to protect Talwyn and Theo from it all.

But in the end, that made her expendable.

Voldemort told her father that if she wouldn't submit, she would only get in the way.

So he did it.

He killed her.

Talwyn's hands curled into the blanket draped over her lap, the fabric twisting between her fingers. Her chest felt tight, her throat burning with a scream she hadn't let out in years. It stayed stuck there, coiled and silent.

Molly must have sensed it—some echo of what was clawing at her heart—because she pulled back only slightly, brushing a strand of hair from Talwyn's cheek with infinite gentleness.

"You get some rest," she murmured. "I'll be downstairs if you need anything."

Talwyn nodded, unable to speak, and watched as Molly stood and left the room, closing the door behind her with a soft click.

The silence that followed felt louder than anything. The room was warm, but her insides still felt frozen.

A few minutes passed before there was another sound, a quieter one. The door creaked open just slightly, and George peeked inside, holding a steaming mug in one hand.

His eyes landed on her, curled up in the blanket, and his expression shifted from tentative to worried.

"I brought tea," he said softly. "Figured you could use something warm."

Talwyn didn't answer right away. She just stared at him, her mind still caught somewhere between now and then, past and present.

George stepped in fully, closing the door behind him, and crossed the room in a few quick strides. He crouched down beside the bed, holding the mug out.

"Here," he said again, more gently. "It's chamomile. Mum's magic cure for everything."

She hesitated... then took it.

Their fingers brushed, and she realized she was still shaking.

George noticed too. "You don't have to talk," he said quickly. "I just... I wanted to check on you."

She took a small sip of the tea. It was scalding, but somehow that helped, like it reminded her she was real. That this wasn't some dream she'd wake up from, still trapped behind those cold windows, still waiting for someone to come.

"Thank you," she whispered, her voice hoarse.

George nodded, sitting on the floor beside the bed rather than leaving.

The tea was warm between her hands, but it wasn't what made her feel better. It was the silence, gentle and unforced, and George sitting cross-legged on the floor beside her bed, like he didn't have anywhere else in the world he needed to be.

Talwyn pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders, her eyes fixed on the steaming mug.

"You're lucky," she said quietly, voice soft and raw.

George looked up at her. "Yeah?"

"To have your mum," she said. "The way she looked at you downstairs... like she already loved you before you even opened your mouth."

George smiled faintly, scratching the back of his neck. "That's Mum, yeah. Loud, terrifying when she's angry, but all heart."

"You're lucky to have that," Talwyn said. "Someone who just... wants you safe. Who fights for you."

She looked down into the tea, the words tumbling out before she could stop them. "My mum was like that, too. Before she died."

George didn't say anything. He didn't rush her. Just waited, quiet and still, letting her find the words.

"She used to sing when she cooked," Talwyn said after a moment. "Terrible voice. Absolutely awful. Theo and I used to plug our ears and howl like wolves just to make her laugh."

George let out a soft chuckle, and she smiled, a tiny, aching thing.

"She made these horrible peppermint scones. Said they were 'festive.' They were disgusting." Talwyn laughed softly at the memory, eyes glassy. "But we ate them every winter anyway, just because she looked so proud handing them out."

George's smile widened. "I'd try one."

Talwyn's lips twitched. "You'd regret it."

They both fell quiet for a moment, the kind of silence that didn't feel awkward. Just full of things left unsaid.

"She wasn't supposed to die," Talwyn said, her voice faltering. "She wasn't part of any of it, she didn't want to be. She told my father she was done with the war, that she wanted out... wanted to take us and leave."

George's face darkened, the humor fading from his expression.

"He didn't even hesitate," Talwyn whispered. "We heard them arguing that night. Theo and I were hiding on the stairs, and then... he just... did it. One spell. She fell, just like that. And he looked at us, looked through us, like it didn't matter."

Her voice cracked. "And then he made us go back to bed."

George moved without a word, rising to his knees beside the bed. "Talwyn," he said softly, and when she didn't look at him, he reached out and took the tea from her trembling hands, setting it aside.

"I don't know what to say," he murmured, "because nothing's going to make that okay. But I want you to know... that wasn't your fault. None of it."

She blinked hard, tears slipping silently down her cheeks.

"She'd be proud of you," he said. "You know that, right? For getting away. For surviving him."

Talwyn let out a shaky breath, her throat tight.

"I don't feel strong," she admitted. "I feel... like I'm falling apart most of the time."

"That's okay," George said. "Falling apart means you're still here. Still fighting."

He gently reached out, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. It was the lightest touch, but it made her inhale sharply, because it wasn't rough, or cold, or controlling.

It was kind.

Caring.

Human.

"I miss her every day," Talwyn whispered. "But tonight... hearing your mum yelling at you two like you were idiots and then hugging me like I was hers? It made it hurt a little less."

George smiled softly. "She kind of collects strays, you know. You're already doomed."

That pulled a quiet laugh from Talwyn.

He stayed there beside her a little longer, until the tears stopped and the weight in her chest eased just enough to breathe.

When he finally stood to leave, kissing her forehead softly before walking to the door.

"I'm not going anywhere, you know," he said, turning around once more. 

Talwyn didn't answer, but the look she gave him said enough.

As soon as the door closed Talwyn stood up, walking to the desk that was under the window in the corner of the room. She sat down, taking a piece of parchment and a pen that was lying there. She started writing slowly. 

~

Dear Theo,

I don't even know where to start. So I'll just say it, I'm safe.

I'm not at home anymore. I left. George and Fred came for me, and I got out. I know what you're thinking, and I don't blame you. It was reckless. It was dangerous. But I had to. I couldn't breathe in that house. I couldn't be me there anymore. I don't think I ever was. 

He was going to ruin me, Theo. You know that. You saw what he did.

I know you're doing what you always do, trying to hold everything together. But you don't have to, not alone. Not this time.

Please come. I need you.

I'm at the Burrow. Molly Weasley took me in, just opened her arms like it was the most natural thing in the world. And I didn't realize how much I needed that until I was here. It's messy, and loud, and nothing like home... but it's warm. And it's safe.

I think you'd like her. You'd like how she defends her family like a lion and treats everyone like they matter.

I miss you.

Every second.

And I know it's not fair to ask you to leave, to come find me. But I'm asking anyway.

Come.

Love,Wynie

~

She walked downstairs slowly, her footsteps light against the creaky wooden floorboards of the Burrow. The cozy smell of herbs and woodsmoke lingered in the air, mingling with the faint aroma of whatever Molly had cooked hours earlier. The house was quiet now, except for the soft ticking of a crooked clock on the wall.

The owl was perched by the window in the kitchen, the same one that had delivered her letter earlier. It blinked at her expectantly, tilting its head in that odd, knowing way owls do. Talwyn stepped closer, gently sliding the rolled-up letter into its beak.

"Take it to Theo," she whispered. "And be careful."

The owl gave a soft hoot, then took off through the open window, disappearing into the night sky like a shadow among the stars.

Talwyn turned around and jumped at the sight of Fred leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed and a crooked grin on his face.

"Didn't mean to scare you," he said, scratching the back of his neck. "I have a habit of... appearing."

She let out a breath, hand on her chest. 

He chuckled lightly, stepping into the kitchen. "Couldn't sleep. Thought I'd check on our midnight guest." His eyes flicked to the window where the owl had vanished. "Sending a letter?"

"To Theo," she admitted, tugging at her sleeve out of habit. "He's probably worried. I... needed him to know I'm okay."

Fred nodded, a little more serious now. "You get the whole twin thing then, yeah? It's something I couldn't explain to anyone even if I tried."

"Yeah," she said softly, her gaze dropping to the floor. "He's the only one that's... always been there."

A brief silence followed. Fred opened a cabinet and pulled down two mugs, filling them with the leftover tea from the kettle Molly must have brewed earlier.

He handed one to her, and she took it with a quiet thank-you even though she already had one upstairs.

"I'm not the best at this kind of thing," Fred said suddenly, eyes on the steam curling up from his mug. "The talking, comforting, emotional-deep-thoughts kind of stuff. That's more of a George specialty, to be honest."

Talwyn smiled faintly. "He's not bad at it."

"No, he's not," Fred agreed, then gave her a glance. "He cares about you, you know. More than I've ever seen him care about anyone, actually. Excluding myself, of course." He finished off, causing Talwyn to let our a breathy laugh.

She stared into her tea. "He shouldn't."

Fred raised an eyebrow. "Why not?"

"Because I'm a mess," she whispered. "Because I'm dangerous. Because being near me gets people hurt."

Fred leaned against the counter, folding his arms again, his voice quieter now. "That's not how he sees it. And... I think you know that."

She blinked fast, jaw tightening. "It's just... it's been so long since I felt like a person. Since someone looked at me and didn't see something broken. And George, he saw me. And I ruined that. I ruined all of this."

"You didn't ruin anything," Fred said gently. "You were surviving. That's not the same as ruining."

Talwyn looked up at him, genuinely surprised by his sincerity.

"I may joke a lot," he continued, his tone still warm, "but I know what pain looks like. And I know what love looks like too. And I've never seen George look at anyone the way he looks at you. He doesn't care about any of the risks. He just cares about you."

She didn't say anything at first. Just held her tea a little tighter and nodded slowly.

Fred reached out, squeezing her shoulder gently. "Get some sleep, Tal-gal." He said, bringing back some of the joking tone. "You're not alone anymore."

As he turned to leave the kitchen, Talwyn stood still for a long moment, staring out the window at the night sky, wondering where the owl was now, and if Theo would come.

And somewhere in the back of her mind, she couldn't help but think about the way George looked at her, like she was something worth saving.