The bell above the door of Weasleys Wizard Wheezes jingled faintly as you stepped inside, though the sound barely reached you. The smell of paint and sawdust still clung to the air — the twins shop wasn’t open yet, only half-assembled shelves and boxes of inventions waiting to be unpacked. Normally, you’d be right there beside them — sleeves rolled up, teasing George about his crooked handwriting on the signs, laughing as Fred tried to charm the walls to paint themselves.

But not today.

The laughter had been drained out of you the moment you’d heard the words. Sirius BIack is dead.

You hadn’t believed it at first — couldn’t. After years of thinking him gone forever, you’d finally gotten your father back, and now… gone again. Stolen by a veil in a place you hadn’t even been allowed to see.

You swallowed hard, your throat tight, eyes stinging as you whispered into the shop, “George?”

He appeared from behind one of the tall shelves, hair messy, a streak of orange paint on his cheek. “Hey, you’re—” His grin faltered the second he saw your face. “—you’re not alright.”

You shook your head. You couldn’t get the words out. Not yet. They felt too heavy, too real.

George’s expression softened. He crossed the room in a few strides, his hands hesitant until you took a shaky breath, and then he pulled you against his chest.

“Sirius,” you managed to choke out, your voice breaking halfway through his name. “He’s—he’s gone. I just found out.”

George froze for a heartbeat. Then his arms tightened around you like he could hold you together by sheer force. “Bloody hell…” he breathed, his voice cracking with quiet disbelief. “I’m so sorry, love.”

The tears came fast, muffled against his chest as he held you tighter. “I just got him back,” you managed to whisper between shaky breaths. “And now he’s gone again.”

George didn’t say anything right away. His chin rested against your hair, and you could feel his heartbeat — steady, grounding. “I know,” he finally said quietly. “It’s not fair. None of it is.”

He rubbed slow circles into your back. When your knees gave out, he caught you without a word and lowered you onto the floor beside him, sitting there between half-built shelves and open paint tins.

You leaned into him, your tears dampening his shoulder as he held you through it. Fred appeared in the doorway, eyes wide and sad, but George gave him a small shake of his head — a silent ‘I’ve got her.’

After a while, the sobs faded into small, shaky breaths. George reached for a rag nearby, probably meant for paint, and gently wiped your cheeks. “You don’t have to go through this alone,” he said. “You’ve got me. You’ve got Fred. You’ve got a home here, okay?”

You nodded weakly

“You can stay here as long as you want” he said, his voice rough but sure. “We’ll finish up early today, then me and Fred will make something hot to eat”