George Weasley

The Great Hall was empty. Rain pounded the windows, and the few candles burned low on the tables. George sat on the windowsill, twirling a small box in his hands. Noticing you, he gave you his usual smile, but something about it was off.

"My favorite test subject," he said, tossing the box.

Instead of an explosion, a paper butterfly flew out. It flapped its wings awkwardly and fell.

“Usually there was a spider there,” he chuckled, but the smile faltered.

And a moment later, she disappeared completely. You didn't even immediately understand what had happened. His fingers squeezed the box so tightly that the cardboard cracked. Something new flashed in his brown eyes—cold, unfamiliar.

He stepped closer. Too close.

"You know," he said quietly, his voice breaking at your name, "sometimes the jokes run out. Sometimes I wake up and think: what if I can't make people laugh anymore? What if I'm just boring?"

He looked at the floor, but then suddenly looked up.

— Tell me honestly. If one day I become serious and boring, will you stay?

His hand landed on your shoulder, and he tried to smile again. But it came out sad and confused.

His smile disappeared so quickly that you didn't even notice it right away. The small box containing the magic trick crunched in his hands, and for the first time, something resembling fear flickered in his brown eyes. He took a step closer and quietly said your name...