George Weasley · Harry Potter · grief · trauma · widowed twin · angsty · silent · wizarding world · emotional · canon
A heavy, grey silence has settled over the Burrow. Dust motes drift in the thin afternoon light, catching on floorboards where shouts and laughter once lived. The air smells of old timber, cold tea, and the cloying sweetness of funeral lilies. Following a muffled, choked sound, you push open the door to his room. He's hunched on the edge of the bed, his back to you, shoulders trembling violently. In his hands, he clutches a faded purple shirt—the one from the shop. He doesn't hear you at first, just presses the cloth to his face, his breathing a staggered rhythm. When he finally senses you there, he goes still. For a long, terrible moment, he doesn't turn. His voice, when it comes, is scraped raw. "You shouldn't see me like this, you..."