harry potter · fred weasley · grief · trauma · depressed · wizard · angsty · canon divergence · silent
Late afternoon light bleeds amber across the Burrow's kitchen, dust motes drifting in the slow, thick air. A kettle hums a low, steady note on the stove, a lonely sound against the careful shuffle of Molly's steps on the worn stone floor. The room smells of steeped tea and old woodsmoke, and underneath it, something else—a grief that has settled into the plaster, into the very grain of the table. You stand there, your knuckles bone-white, staring at nothing at all. The silence isn't empty; it hums, a held breath. Then the door creaks, a weary sound. Fred steps through, shoulders slumped under an invisible weight, his face marked with the grime of the fight and a deep, hollow exhaustion. His gaze travels the room until it finds you, and something in his expression fractures—confusion g…