George Weasley walked down Diagon Alley early in the morning, stopping when he reached the building with the number ninety-three on its mailbox. He stood in front of the door for a while, looking up at the sign hanging above it, bright even in the darkness of pre-dawn. He hesitated for a moment longer, then took a steadying breath and walked through the door.
When he flicked on the lights the bright colors of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes jumped out at him. A sharp pain shot through his chest. It had been a whole month since the battle at Hogwarts, but none of the original pain had gone away. He took another deep breath as he absently massaged the skin above his grieving heart.
The show must go on, he thought. I made myself a promise and I intend to keep it.
With a renewed determination, he clocked in and went to the rack on the wall where the work robes hung. It didn't surprise him when he accidentally grabbed Fred's robes instead of his own; he'd come to realize that now that Fred was gone his things popped up far more than was necessary. This knowledge, however, didn't stop another shock of pain from impaling his already-battered heart. He gently put his brother's robes back on the peg and shrugged into his own.
It would be a while before the other employees started showing up, so he decided he'd have a look around. It seemed like forever since he'd seen the place.
He wandered among the boxes, looking at all the spectacular concoctions he and Fred had dreamed up. He smiled, remembering the thought-process behind each, the animated discussions and experiments that had gone into the invention of each and every product. He remembered the long days locked up in their bedroom, the dormitory, the Room of Requirement. He remembered testing their creations on the first years in the common room, just to see Percy's livid face.
No one ever thought we'd make it this far, George recalled with a half-smile - a pale immitation of what his smile had once been. But we did, eh, Fred? We proved Mum and everyone wrong. We realized our dream.
Soon he was in the breakroom. On the floor was a card from a box of Chocolate Frogs. He picked it up. Of course it was Dumbledore. George threw the card away, unable to look at it.
The sight of Dumbledore brought back memories of the DA days back at Hogwarts.
Don't think of that, he urged himself. You're making this more painful than it has to be. But he knew that was wrong. This was going to be excruciating, no matter how he approached it.
His eyes found the back wall with the bulletin board on it. He sighed. Just get it over with, he told himself. He walked to the back wall, where awaited him a bulletin board full of flyers, old calendars, and sticky notes. Amongst these, however, were a few carefully-placed photographs, and it was to these that George directed his attention.
The first picture that caught his eye was the one of him and Fred smiling and waving from outside their new store. It had been the grand opening of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. George smiled. It seemed like an age ago.
Above this one was a picture that made George's heart twist inside him like a wet rag. It was a threesome of scraggly second-years. A pair of carrot-topped twins stood on either side of a tall black boy with dreadlocks. The three of them were laughing at some long-forgotten joke. It was at King's Cross, just before they boarded the train to go to their second year of Hogwarts. George's eyes welled up, but he refused to let himself cry. He wiped his eyes hastily, and when he looked back at the picture he gave a dry laugh. It was so weird, seeing how small they'd been. Lee especially, he'd grown so much since then.
He wiped his eyes again, then took the two pictures down from the bulletin board.
* * *
He sighed a heavy sigh. He'd put it off for as long as he could, but he could avoid it no longer. He slowly climbed the stairs to his and Fred's flat.
It was exactly as they'd left it when they'd gone into hiding. Their dirty clothes were tossed carelessly into a basket which was meant to serve as a hamper. Both beds were still unmade. George felt another tear at his heart when he realized that the majority of the stuff lying around belonged to Fred. Of course. It was like some unwritten law of the dead: leave evidence of your existence everywhere, especially where those who loved you can find it.
George noticed something poking out from under Fred's bed. He got on his knees and pulled it out, but once he had he immediately wished he hadn't. It was Fred's old Hogwarts trunk. Though his brain told him to shove it back under the bed quickly and avoid further pain, his curiosity overruled his good sense and he unlatched the clasp that held the trunk shut.
Everything was there: Fred's seventh year books, a few forgotten prank candies, tattered dragon-skin gloves, a scrap of unfinished homework. George carefully fingered through everything until he reached the bottom, where lay a single picture.
George didn't remember posing for this one, but that hardly mattered. It was him and Fred; they were in their Quidditch robes. George supposed it was about third or fourth year. They were making faces at the camera, one after the other, screwing up their identical features until they were in the most hilariously bizzarre positions. Bulging eyes, scrunched up noses. There was one point where they both made the same face at the same time, and when they realized this they burst into soundless laughter. George watched this scene for a while, then he began laughing himself. And once the laughing started, it wouldn't stop. That photo depicted such a typical moment! George guessed Fred had kept this picture close at hand in case he ever needed a laugh. George grinned. It certainly did the trick.
He turned the picture over. On the back of the picture was Fred's untidy scrawl:
Me + George
3rd Year
Quidditch
Win Against Hufflepuff
3rd Year
Quidditch
Win Against Hufflepuff
George shook his head in wonder. Even Fred's handwriting was uncannily close to George's own.
George turned the picture back over and stared at his and his brother's silly, carefree faces. But the longer he looked at the picture, the more that nagging pain wrenched at his chest.
They could never have a moment like that again. Never again could they spend long days inventing things for their joke shop, or annoying Filch, or winding Percy up, or sharing a laugh over something you'd have to be a Weasley twin to understand. George was, for the first time in his entire life, truly alone.
The picture fell from George's shaking hands. He had known this part was coming, but that didn't lessen the hurt. He wrapped his arms tightly around himself and hunched over like he was cold, trying to contain the bursting ache in his heart. The tears came then, slowly trickling at first, then with increasing strength and sorrow until his whole body shook with sobs. George wept there amidst his dead brother's belongings, silently begging whatever force controlled this world to return to him what he had lost.
He had no idea how long he was there, but eventually he regained control of himself. He wiped his puffy eyes and stood, heading for the stairs.
The show must go on, he thought.
