They had already begun to move again, the press of Diagon Alley easing back into place around them-voices rising, footsteps crossing, the ordinary churn of the street reasserting itself. For a fraction of a second, it didn't. The world seemed to hold, not in warning or fear, but in quiet acknowledgment, as a breath paused at the top of its arc. Harry noticed it, then let it pass, stepping forward with the others as sound rushed back in. Angelina's voice was not loud, but precise.
"George."
He turned, already smiling. It slipped half a second too late. "Angie! Blimey, talk about coincidence-"
She didn't smile back. Her eyes flicked over him in one swift, practiced scan. Weight distribution. Shoulders. The way his magic sat around him, buzzing too close to the surface. "You okay?" she asked.
George opened his mouth. Harry watched as the moment Molly always interrupted happened anyways-expect this time, there was no Molly—just habit.
"Fine," George said easily. "Never better."
Angelina's gaze didn't move. "That wasn't the question."
Silence, not total, but focused. The kind Diagon Alley produced when something real was happening. Angelina broke it first.
"I've been trying to see you," she said, still looking at George, not accusing. Just stating a fact. "For days."
George's smile wobbled, then steadied again. "You know how it is. Things have been a bit-"
"Molly told me you were resting," Angelina continued evenly. "Ginny told me you were busy. Percy told me I needed clearance."
That got a few looks. Someone near the apothecary very deliberately turned a jar of beetle eyes, then turned it back. Angelina finally blinked, her gaze sharpening. "None of them told me whether you said no."
George's mouth opened. Closed. He laughed, a short reflexive sound that didn't quite land. "They're just worried, Angie."
"I know," she said. "So am I."
Her eyes flicked to Harry, then, not for permission, not for backup, for confirmation. Harry met her look. For the briefest instant, the air thinned again, like the world pausing at the top of a breath. Harry waited for it to pass. When it did, he spoke.
"He didn't say no."
George let out a breath he'd been holding too carefully. His shoulders dropped a fraction. Angelina nodded once, as if something had clicked into place. "Thought so."
She shifted her parcels to one arm and stepped closer, lowering her voice just enough that it was no longer for the street. "I wasn't checking up on you because I was bored. I was checking up on you because every time I got near, someone decided what was best for you."
George's grin softened, turned rueful. "They mean well."
"I'm sure they do," Angelina said. "That doesn't make it fine."
Teddy chose that moment to peer around Harry's shoulder, solemn and curious. His hair flickered a gentle green. Angelina's expression softened immediately.
"Hi there," she said, just as precise, but warmer now.
"Hi," Teddy said seriously.
Angelina glanced back at George. "You look tired."
George huffed. "That obvious?"
"To me," she said. "Yeah."
Harry shifted Teddy against his chest. The street noise was creeping back in now, people reassured that this wasn't going to explode into spectacle. He felt that subtle stillness once more as he took a step forward, like crossing an invisible line.
"Why don't we step inside somewhere?" Harry suggested calmly, nodding towards Leaky Cauldron. "Out of the way."
George looked between them, then nodded. "Yeah. That'd be good."
Angelina exhaled, the tension easing just a notch. She handed one of her bags to George without thinking. He took it automatically.
"See?" she said quietly. "You're allowed to say yes."
George smiled at her then, this one slower, real. "Good thing you're stubborn."
"Someone has to be," she replied.
They pushed through the final shutters of Diagon Alley and into the Leaky Cauldron, the warm, dim interior immediately wrapped around them like a familiar, watchful cloak. The chatter and clatter of mugs, the hiss of the kitchen hearth, the occasional clink of a dropped coin-all froze for just a heartbeat as the inn's patrons took in the group: Harry carrying Teddy, George and Angelina flanked him on his left, moving in easy tandem-shoulders nearly aligned, a united front without needing to speak. On his right, Daryl walked a half-step back, posture relaxed but watchful, eyes missing nothing. Tables paused mid-gesture. A witch's spoon hung suspended over her stew. A bartender's rag froze halfway up his arm. Even the creaky floorboards seemed to hold their breath. The inn, packed but ordinary, now felt like a stage, every glance and whisper amplified.
Teddy nestled against Harry's chest, hair flickering nervously from pale green to soft yellow, absorbing the tension without fully understanding it. George grinned faintly, though his eyes scanned the room like a hawk. "Well," he murmured, "that's one way to make an entrance."
Angelina didn't smile, but she shifted slightly closer to George, steady and composed, gaze sweeping the tables with the same assessing sharpness. Daryl's hand rested near his belt, where steel-not holly or yew- waited, his eyes already marking exits and distances. The quiet authority he carried filled the space almost as much as Harry's presence. The crowd's attention began to recede, murmurs blossoming again like water returning to its course, yet the faint tension lingered, an invisible reminder that Harry Potter, Teddy Lupin, and their small retinue were not simply passing through.
Harry adjusted the sling, keeping Teddy snug against his chest, and walked forward toward an empty table near the back. Every step was deliberate, measured, claiming the space as their own while letting the Leaky Cauldron settle back into its usual hum. They reached the table without interruption, though eyes followed. Harry chose the seat with his back to the wall out of instinct. Daryl took the chair angled toward the door without being asked. Angelina slid in beside George, close enough that their knees brushed. George pretended not to notice. He failed. Teddy twisted in the sling, small fingers clutching at Harry's collar. His hair flickered violet now- curious, unsettled.
A serving girl approached, overly bright. "Butterbeer? Firewhisky?"
"Tea," Angelina said.
"Whatever's strongest," George added lightly.
Daryl didn't look up. Butterbeer."
Harry nodded. "And something simple for the little one."
When she left, the quiet around their table felt deliberate rather than accidental. George leaned back, forcing ease into his posture. "So," he said. "Are we staging interventions in public now? Is that the new family pastime?"
Angelina's jaw tightened, but she didn't rise to it. "I asked if you were okay."
"I said I was."
"That wasn't the question."
Harry watched George's smile fracture at the edge again. It was becoming a pattern. Too quick. Too bright. Too practiced.
Daryl spoke without looking at him. "You're exhausted."
George blinked. "Brilliant. Now the apocalypse has opinions."
Daryl's gaze lifted slowly. "Grief doesn't vanish because your mum says rest."
The words landed heavily. Angelina didn't touch George this time. She just waited. George's fingers tapped the table once. Twice. Stilled.
"They've been managing the shop," he said finally. "Lee's helping. Mum says it's temporary."
"And you?" Harry asked quietly.
George's eyes flicked up. For a moment, Harry saw it- raw and unfiltered. Not the twin who survived. Not the joker. Just a man who had lost half of himself and been told to lie down and recover quietly.
"I didn't say I wanted to stop," George admitted. Soft. Almost lost under the tavern noise.
Angelina nodded once. "That's what I thought."
The drinks arrived. Steam curled between them like a barrier. Harry leaned forward slightly, voice lowering. "They've been making decisions for you."
George didn't argue.
"And they've been making decisions about Teddy," Harry added.
That sharpened the air.
Angelina's eyes snapped to him. "What?"