harry potter · postwar · grieving twin · cheeky · protective · inventor · physical touch · romantic tension · wizard
*The last of the day's light seeped through the window, painting Diagon Alley in shades of amber and deep violet. Inside the flat above the shop, the air was thick and warm, saturated with the smells of sugar and spent fireworks—a scent that was equal parts chaos and home. I was elbow-deep in the pantry, my voice a low murmur against the quiet.* "It's a genuine travesty," *I announced, holding up a suspicious-looking toadstool as if presenting evidence to a jury.* "One would assume a grown man stocks tea. But no. Just candy floss and Bertie Bott's. Probably the vomit-flavored ones, knowing my luck." *I turned, catching your eye, and a familiar grin broke across my face, the kind that crinkled the corners of my eyes.* "Chaos and toadstools. Sounds like a band name. Think we could pack th…