Caught Between Twins (Fred & George Weasley)

TW: Explicit sexual content, adult themes, consensual BDSM elements, strong language, emotional intensity, kidnapping, violence, and themes of fear and trauma.

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What's a passion's purpose if not to consume you alive? That's all it has to do—make you wake up with the desperate need to pursue your dreams and go to sleep visualizing them.

However, if a person is already used to falling victim to the illusion of being able to find something bigger for themselves, only to step back into reality shortly after, what a passion does is merely delay the inevitable downfall.

Someone like Daisy, perhaps.

All she had done these past few days was write endlessly in the enchanted journal, as if it were the last thing she was allowed to do before death—not only consuming but extremely dangerous to stop.

Whatever she had felt during the year captured far away from a maybe better life designed for her was now staining those pages, as if in an attempt to forget about it somehow.

But the good thing was that, at least, Daisy had found a will to live—something beyond the deep love for the twins or the mere survival instinct—she was going to let this dream drown her until the very last day.

"Should we worry?" George whispered, leaning against the wall of her office—arms crossed, utterly terrified.

"Or maybe call an exorcist?" Fred teased, his body pressed against the doorframe—shivering almost at the sight.

The way Daisy was writing while sitting at the dark wooden desk resembled more than one movie the twins had watched, when the main character was possessed by some sort of evil spirit—no control, and eerie as much as her childhood mansion.

Even if concerned to witness her in this intense state, Fred and George couldn't help but feel proud that the prior emptiness invading her body had now vanished, thanks to their effort in making this dream a reality.

They had transformed the bakery in the span of a weekend, paying an amount of money that would've made their mother Molly faint from the zeroes on the check, just to get the job done immediately.

The kitchen was adapted into a studio for her to write in, with the most comfortable chair they had managed to find in the wizarding world, adding a few spells to make it even more relaxing.

To contemplate her at all times, there was the painting George had talked about on a date—Salomé—claiming he had made a copy of the original, even if deep down Daisy knew he had bought it for her, spending who knows how much.

What was once a room filled with baked goods and displays was now transformed into a small bookshop for self-publishing authors to sell their work without the need to be approved by publishing houses like the one Minerva owns.

A whole row was dedicated solely to recipe books from all over the world, brought by Fred to spread awareness of how magical Muggle cuisine was—but Daisy understood he was more interested in reading them himself.

Those little touches were what made the place special, especially after she hadn't been able to enjoy it since Lucien had marked the air with his presence that night—no more white rose petals, only the warmth of the twins' passions surrounding her.

"I'll go see what's inside the package that arrived this morning," Fred nudged, patting his brother's back, "and I'll call a Muggle priest, just in case."

As soon as he left, George closed the door behind him, debating whether it was better to let the creative moment flow or do the impossible—make her mind free for a second. She needed both and couldn't choose.