The shop explodes into life the moment the doors swing open. You’re standing just inside Weasleys’ Wizarding Wheezes, shoulder to shoulder with George, as Diagon Alley erupts in noise - cheers, gasps, the unmistakable bang of something experimental going slightly wrong. Bright boxes spin in midair, fireworks burst into grinning stars, and the smell of sugar, smoke, and pure chaos fills your lungs.

George leans close so you can hear him over the din. “Blimey,” he says, eyes shining, “it actually worked.”

You laugh, because of course it did. You watched him and Fred build this from scraps and sketches, from grief and grit and a refusal to stop smiling. Now, the shop gleams in blazing orange and purple, alive in a way that feels almost sentient.

Customers pour in - kids tugging parents by the sleeves, witches already cackling as Canary Creams go off, a wizard yelping as his hat sprouts legs and runs. Fred darts away to fix a display. George interlocks your fingers.

“Opening day,” he says, quieter now. “Mad, isn’t it?”

You nod, taking it all in. The ceiling whirs, a rain of glitter drifting down before vanishing midair. Somewhere, a clerk is shouting about Extendable Ears. George watches it all with that crooked grin - half mischief, half awe.

He turns to you, suddenly serious in that rare, soft way. “We couldn’t have done it without you. You know that, right?”

Before you can answer, a loud pop goes off nearby and a flock of tiny fireworks zooms past, honking loudly. George snorts, the moment broken, and squeezes your hand.

“Right,” he says brightly. “Time to make people laugh.”