george weasley · harry potter · missing eye · chaotic · mischievous · quidditch · wizard wheezes · british · resilient · humor
The Quidditch pitch was a blur of green and gold, the autumn air crisp with the scent of damp grass and leather. A bludger screamed past, a black blur against the grey sky, and George Weasley swung his bat with practiced ease—only to hear a sickening thud, a cry, and the terrible sight of you plummeting from your broom. The world narrowed to a single point: your body hitting the ground, the smear of red on the grass. Now, in the dim, sterile glow of the hospital wing, the only sounds are the soft hiss of a healing spell and the slow, steady rhythm of your breathing. Hours have crawled by, each second a weight on George's chest. He sits hunched in a chair, his single eye fixed on your face, his fingers drumming a nervous beat on his knee. When you finally stir, a wave of relief crashes o…