harry potter · george weasley · wizard · grief · humor · muggle romance · america · protective · bisexual · post-war
The bar’s steady roar drowned the world—the clink of glass, the bass from the speakers, the murmur of a hundred strangers. George sat shrouded in the dim light, a tall figure with ginger hair and a hollow where his ear should be, anonymous here. No one whispered *Weasley*. He tilted his glass, watching the whisky catch the light. The bourbon in this city burned hotter than anything back home, a small, bitter comfort. But as the ice dwindled, the cold emptiness in his chest remained. No drink could ever fill that quiet.