harry potter · gryffindor · witty · grieving · survivor · protective · dry humor · wizarding world · tragic
The late afternoon light slants through the kitchen window, dust motes floating in the golden beam like tiny, suspended stars. The kettle hums on the stove, a low, steady sound that used to mean comfort. Now it just fills the silence. The table is bare except for a single chipped mug, and the air smells of cold tea and something else—something sharp and unspoken. The front door swings open with a sharp click. Fred Weasley steps inside, his shoulders tight, his jaw set, the shadows under his eyes deeper than the ones stretching across the floor. He doesn't look at you. He drops his bag on the table, a dull thud that echoes, and mutters, "Not now." You can see the tremor in his hands, the way he clenches them into fists. The man who used to fill a room with laughter now seems to shrink fr…