hinn*

They are meant to be together. All the time. They were born together, and George thinks it is only fair they should have been allowed to die together. 

He can’t finish his own sentences. They hang, limp in the stagnant air, and he chokes on nothing, and feels the ice cold fingers of grief clutching his heart. 

He remembers what it was to have someone know him. He remembers how easy it was to be with someone who looked through him, and saw each one of his veins and his beating heart. He remembers what it was to have someone know the end of each sentence and the start of the next.

He remembers waking in the middle of the night, and seeing the top of his brothers head, one bed over. He remembers feeling safe. As long as they were together.

He remembers being ten and hiding in the woodshed from an older brother, and at first, he was proud of himself, because this is a good spot, and he will never be found. He remembers wondering where Fred was. He remembers the uneasiness resting on his shoulders in his brother’s absence. What, he thinks, is the point of a perfect hiding spot, if Fred is not there to smother his laughter when Charlie walks by.

He remembers Percy shaking his head at them, while they floated in the lake with all their clothes weighing them down, the cold air making them shiver. He remembers both his brothers grinning. He remembers Percy shouting, laughing, that they are fools. That they will catch cold. No, Fred calls back in goofy voice, George will keep me warm. George remembers his twin gripping him tight and dragging him under the water. He remembers being pulled down next to his brother, eight lanky, pale limbs, flailing in the water, two identical laughs. 

He remembers the last laugh, too. Before the death.

George remembers a lot. He wishes he didn’t sometimes. Remembering hurts. 

I have this headcanon that during Ginny’s first game with the Harpies, the other team’s asshole keeper made a snide remark about her ass or how she only got on the team because she’s dating Harry and she threw the Quaffle at him so hard that he fell through the hoop and that’s how she scored her first professional goal
Harry, Ron, and George were crying they were laughing so hard in the stands

so there’s this toilet cubicle in my school that has some things written all over the door and i was in it the other day just minding my own business and stuff ya know and then I noticed

and I was fREAKING OUT LIKE WHAT THE FUCK

but then I came back like a few days later and I looked and

IT’S NOW AN OTP POTTY WHAT IS THIS

I love how OTP stands for one true pairing but literally no one has just one.

whatever you do don’t imagine one half of your otp reading while the other one dozes on their shoulder all tangled up in the bedsheets don’t do it please

A ship and an otp are two totally different things. A ship is something that you think about every once in a while that makes you smile for a bit and then you don’t think about it again for a week or so. An otp is something that makes you sob for hours on end as you stay up until 3 in the morning reading fanfiction as you lie in your bed in a puddle of your own tears contemplating you life choices. 

i find it amusing how people think harry and ginny would have had a completely settled, quiet life after the war like these two idiots are literally the biggest daredevils on the planet?? do you honestly think they even know how to have a quiet existence?? they probably came shuffling in to mrs. weasley every week all scraped and bruised with a black eye and matching stupid grins because they fought off a bear that was trying to steal their picnic or some shit