Chapter Text
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I Do Not Own Harry Potter
All Characters Appearing In This Work Are Fictitious. Any Resemblance To Real Persons, Living Or Dead Is Purely Coincidental
Chapter 1: Reflections at Dusk
It was early evening by the time the Minister had taken his leave, and shortly after, Luna and Neville departed as well. The Burrow grew quieter, though Garrick Ollivander lingered a moment longer. With visible effort, the old wandmaker rose from his chair, a wand clasped in his hand. His eyes carried an almost Mad Scientist‑like expression as he excused himself, disappearing upstairs to set up a temporary workshop in Bill’s old room. Minerva McGonagall watched him go, wondering briefly what business carried him away, before dismissing the thought.
Yet despite the soft hum of departure, Minerva remained seated, her sharp gaze distant and thoughtful. She had listened with rapt attention to the story her three students — aided by the house‑elf Kreacher — had narrated, and even her formidable intellect had faltered at times, forcing her to ask for clarification. It was no surprise; she had been granted a glimpse into the minds of three of the most powerful wizards in history: Gellert Grindelwald, Albus Dumbledore, and Tom Riddle.
Among the many revelations, one memory returned most vividly: Dumbledore’s words whenever she voiced her suspicions about Severus Snape. He would smile that kind, knowing smile and say, “Worry not, my dear Minerva; love conquers all, even hate and fear.” Lost in the recollection, she did not notice Kingsley’s departure. She simply sat there, smiling faintly through the ache of memory, until a single tear escaped her eye. Drawing a deep breath, she whispered with a soft laugh,
> “Indeed, love conquers all, Albus — even hate and fear.”
Only then did she realize she had spoken aloud, and that the room had fallen silent, every face turned toward her with an odd expression.
George was the first to break the silence. His voice carried a brittle edge, darker than it once had been, as he looked up at the ceiling and muttered,
“I knew the old Bat had a sense of humour. You owe me ten Galleons, Fred… wherever you are.”
The words hung in the air, half‑joke, half‑ache. A few smiles flickered, but the weight of Fred’s name made them falter.
Arthur opened his mouth, torn between defending his son and chastising him. His hands tightened on his knees, but before a single word left him, Minerva raised one finger. The gesture was simple, but it carried the weight of decades of authority. Arthur closed his mouth at once, his jaw tight, and the silence deepened.
Minerva’s gaze fixed on George, sharp and unyielding.
> “Mr. Weasley, grief can make us reckless. I understand your pain, but humour wielded carelessly can wound as much as it heals. Do not mistake laughter for armour — it will not protect you if you let it run wild.”
George leaned back, folding his arms, his grin sharpening into something almost challenging.
> “With respect, Professor, laughter’s the only shield I’ve got left. If I don’t laugh, I’ll drown. And if it stings a bit… well, maybe that’s the point.”
The room went still again. Minerva’s finger lowered, but her eyes never softened. The weight of her stare was enough to silence even George.
“Shields as you just heard over the past few hours, Mr. Weasley, can become dangerous things. Even jokes. Especially jokes. Even your idols, The Maurauders: learnt that lesson the hard way, did they not?
You may choose laughter to survive, but you must not let it become cruelty — to yourself or to others. I will not see you lose what makes you whole George.
Remember this: it is easy to climb onto a tiger’s back, but far more difficult to get off.”
The words hung in the air, heavy with warning and wisdom. Even George himself was silenced, forced to consider her words.
Ron’s brow furrowed, his mind catching on the imagery. Almost without realizing, he whispered under his breath,
> “Tiger… cat… stag… dog… wolf… horse… otter…”
He blinked, the list of animals sparking something in him. His eyes widened, and he sat forward suddenly, excitement bubbling.
> “Wait — that’s it!” he blurted, startling everyone. “George, imagine products that let you sound like animals, or clumsily act like them for a few minutes. Joke sweets that make you croak like a frog, howl like a wolf, or roar like a tiger. It’s brilliant! And if you want… I can help you.”
George blinked, startled. Ron pressed on, but his voice faltered, his ears reddening as though he wasn’t sure he had the right to say it.
“I know I’m no substitute for Fred,” he added awkwardly, glancing down at his hands, “but… I’ve got some ideas. Maybe the two of us together could make the shop stronger than ever. That is… if you’re willing. I don’t want to overstep.”
The room held its breath. Ron’s words hung in the air, awkward but sincere, like a young wizard testing the edges of a transformation he hadn’t quite mastered.
George sat frozen, shock etched across his face. Seconds stretched into what felt like hours before he finally spoke a single word:
> “Why?”
Though it was only one syllable, the emotion with which it was spoken made it seem as though that single word carried a thousand questions.
Ron swallowed, his voice quieter now, but steadier.
“It’s simple. Because you’re family.”