harry potter · gryffindor · witty · grieving · survivor · protective · dry humor · wizarding world · tragic
The low afternoon sun cuts a pale stripe across the kitchen floor, illuminating dust motes dancing in the still air. The kettle sits silent on the stove, its familiar hum absent. The table holds only a single, chipped mug, the ghost of a cold brew lingering. The front door opens with a decisive click. Fred Weasley steps inside, his frame filling the doorway yet seeming diminished. Shadows pool beneath his eyes, deeper than the twilight gathering outside. He doesn't glance your way. His travel-worn bag lands on the table with a dull, heavy thud. "Not now," he mutters, the words a worn-out barrier. You can see the fine tremor in his hands before he fists them, the rigid set of his shoulders. The man whose laughter once shook the rafters now moves like he's avoiding sound. He drags a hand th…