It was rather difficult to explain the way George felt without Fred. It was like half of his soul was missing. He couldn't eat as much anymore, in fact he barely ate at all, and he couldn't sleep because of the empty bed on the other side of the room. There was no longer anything that shocked him mid-morning on Sunday, which was when Fred used to do his experiments and create new, albeit explosive products to put in the shop below. It was empty in the flat, and lonely.
It wasn't as though his family hadn't tried to help - he had been dragged out and plied with Firewhiskey until he forgot his own name, let alone Fred's. He had been recommended by Harry to go to a Muggle councilor, who had told him that it was blame that he threw at himself from Fred's death that left him feeling this way even three years after his death. Hermione had a different idea altogether, and was now living with him, cat and all.
It was strange for George to suddenly have a companion day and night, even though he had craved someone close for so long. It wasn't that he resented her one for not being his twin, if anything he was glad of the company, but he hadn't ever had many females in his flat, to visit let alone stay for any length of time.

There were bad days, and there were horrific days. Sometimes he couldn't get out of bed and open up their shop, others he could just about plaster a false grin on his face and manage the bustling customers for a few hours before relinquishing control of the floor to his new assistant, a small Muggleborn called Ash, who had been a star when George himself couldn't cope.

It was one of those horrific days when Hermione decided to take matters into her own hands, and for this, she needed the best of help.