George Weasley x Fem!reader
Synopsis: After a dangerous escape, that leavea George with one ear, you return to the Burrow and find George injured and hiding his pain with humor. As you care for him, you help him and Fred find a moment of quiet and reassurance after the chaos.
The Burrow is louder than usual when you step through the front door—but not in the way it should be. The warmth is there, the familiar clutter, the low hum of voices—but it’s strained, stretched thin with worry.
Molly’s voice cuts through it all.
“How do you feel, Georgie?”
You follow the sound into the sitting room. George is stretched along the couch, pale beneath his freckles, a bandage clumsily pressed to the side of his head. There’s too much blood. Even now.
“Saint-like…” he mumbles.
Fred is hovering nearby, restless, eyes darting too quickly. “What’s wrong with him? Is his mind affected?”
George doesn’t even open his eyes. “You see… I’m holy. Holey, Fred, geddit?”
Molly lets out a small, broken sob.
Fred groans, exasperated. “Pathetic. With the whole wide world of ear-related humour before you, you go for holey?”
You don’t wait for more. You cross the room and swat George’s leg as you sit beside him.
“Don’t joke like that.”
His head turns slightly toward you. The smirk is still there—of course it is—but it’s weaker now, worn thin at the edges. His eyes soften when they meet yours.
Molly is still trying to clean the wound, her hands trembling despite her effort to stay steady. You reach out, placing a hand gently on her shoulder.
“Here. Let me.”
She looks up at you, tired and frightened in a way you’ve rarely seen. After a moment, she nods and steps back, grateful for the excuse to breathe.
You take her place beside George’s head, carefully moving the cloth aside to properly see the damage. It’s worse up close. Cleaner than before—but final in a way that makes your chest tighten.
George watches you, quieter now.
“Ah, my favorite healer finally takes pity on me,” he murmurs. “Careful—wouldn’t want you getting blood on your hands.”
Fred snorts. “Unbelievable. Half an ear gone and he’s still flirting.”
You don’t smile.
“George,” you say, steady but firm, “enough. It’s alright to feel awful. You just lost an ear.”
That lands.
For a moment, the act slips. His mouth presses into a thin line, and you see it—real pain, real exhaustion, the effort it’s taking just to stay upright.
“Didn’t want Mum crying more,” he admits quietly. “Or Fred panicking.”
Fred stiffens at that, but says nothing.
George lowers his voice, just for you. “Hurts more than I let on.”
You nod once, continuing your work. “Molly’s with Arthur now. She’ll be alright. And Fred—” you glance briefly at him “—he’ll survive not being the brave one for five minutes.”
Fred huffs, but doesn’t argue.
You begin stitching.
George’s breath catches sharply, his fingers twitching like he wants to grab onto something—but he holds still, jaw tight. His eyes stay on yours, grounding himself.
“Rest,” you tell him quietly. “Just for a bit.”
He tries for another smirk. It barely forms.
“Reckon I could,” he mutters. “If you promise not to let Fred draw anything on my face.”
“Would I ever—” Fred starts.
“Yes,” George cuts in, already fading. His hand finds yours briefly, grip weak but deliberate. “You’ll be here when I wake up?”
“Yes,” you answer.
That’s enough. His hand slackens, and he’s asleep within seconds.
—
Time passes quietly after that.
You finish the stitching, wrap the bandage properly, clean away what you can. One by one, the others drift off to bed, exhaustion finally winning over worry. Eventually, it’s just you and Fred left in the dim light of the room.
George sleeps deeply now, his face younger without the constant mischief animating it. The bandage stands out starkly against his hair.
Fred speaks first, voice low.
“How is he?”
“Exhausted. Vulnerable,” you say, cleaning your hands. “But he’ll be fine.”
Fred nods, though the tension in his shoulders doesn’t ease.
“He hides it,” he says after a moment. “Always has. Doesn’t like people fussing.”
“I’ve noticed.”
Fred glances at you. “It’s different with you.”
You shrug lightly. “You see through him too. You just let him get away with it.”
That earns a quiet, tired chuckle. “Fair.”
Silence settles again, softer this time.
“Go sit with him,” you say gently.
Fred doesn’t argue. He moves to the couch and sits carefully, placing a hand on George’s shoulder. The gesture is small, automatic—familiar in a way that doesn’t need explanation.
You grab a couple of blankets and drape them over both of them.
“You should rest too,” you add.
Fred looks up at you, eyes heavy now. He starts to protest, but a yawn cuts him off.
“Yeah… alright,” he admits. He adjusts the blanket around George before settling in properly. “You’ll wake me if anything changes?”
You nod.
“I will.”
Fred relaxes slightly at that, his hand still resting on his twin as his eyes begin to close.
And for the first time since you walked in, the Burrow feels a little steadier.
Credits: I used a cai bot from @Moonlightnight123 as my base so all credits go to them.
Note: Just the same as my other post. I just posted this here cause i refuse to share my personal info with Cai or other chatbots to verify my age and i think its a bit wasteful to let the stories go. So im posting them so the wont be lost, but the purpose is just saving them for myself. Sorry if my english lags its not my first langue.