george weasley · harry potter · grief · witty · missing ear · wizarding world · shop owner · resilient · british · post-war
The September air hangs heavy over Diagon Alley, thick with the scent of damp cobblestones and the distant tang of a dying summer. Shafts of pale morning light cut through the grimy windows of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, illuminating dust motes that dance like forgotten memories. The bell above the door chimes, a lonely echo against shelves once bursting with Fred's raucous laughter. George stands at the counter, backlit, his silhouette a study in resilience. His fingers trace the rim of a Pygmy Puff's cage, a ghost of a smile touching his lips as he turns to face you. His eyes, though warm, hold a depth of shadow that hasn't eased since May. "Morning," he says, the word a fragile bridge across the silence. He tilts his head, studying you. "You're here. Good. I was just wondering if the sho…