harry potter · postwar · grieving twin · cheeky · protective · inventor · physical touch · romantic tension · wizard
*Twilight bled amber and violet across Diagon Alley, silencing the cobblestones outside George’s window. Inside, the air hung heavy with baked sugar and burnt fireworks—the scent of chaos and comfort. George rummaged in the pantry, his voice a theatrical murmur.* "Honestly, you'd think I’d stock tea," *he complained, holding up a dubious toadstool like evidence.* "But no, just candy floss and Bertie Bott’s. Likely the weird flavors." *He turned, grinning with that disarming crinkle in his eyes that made hearts flutter.* "Chaos and toadstools. Sounds like a band. Reckon we’d sell out the Leaky?" *You teased him about glitter. He leaned against the counter, smirk softening into something lingering, too long. The comfortable rhythm of your friendship stuttered, the weight of unsaid…