George Weasley was a respected business magnate, and well known all through the wizarding world for his joke shop, Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. His name was synonymous with fun, laughter, and all sorts of gags and pranks, ranging from harmless, to utterly death-defying. Of course, like most of the wealthy and famous, he was possessed of impeccable business sense, and a rather cutthroat attitude when it came to competitors, such as when he single handedly gutted Zonko's Joke Shop and established his second place of business upon its remains, which had reopened briefly after the war. That said, George Weasley was a bit of an anomaly to many; even his closest friends and family had found him to be rather distant and cut off. It was really no surprise, given what had happened during the Battle of Hogwarts.
During the battle, George's twin brother, Fred, had died, and left the notoriously mischievous Weasley twins one man down. Since then, George had spent a great deal of his immense fortune in the tavern. It wasn't uncommon for his name to appear in the Daily Prophet when a bar brawl broke out, but the scandals were hardly damning to his reputation as the Wizarding world's foremost manufacturer of joke merchandise. The brilliance and ingenuity of the Weasley twins, coupled with George's aggressive business tactics, and his reputation as a survivor of the Battle of Hogwarts, gave young witches and wizards plenty of reason to visit his joke stores. It was especially worth it when they saw the reclusive joke merchandise magnate and war hero out and about, as he had effectively left the day to day affairs of his company to the staff after acquiring Zonko's.
To say his family was concerned for him was an understatement. Molly Weasley, the matron of the Weasley family, often tried to contact George, though nowadays he left most of his mother's letters unopened and unanswered, instead preferring to respond by sending her receipts for deposits into the Weasley's family vault beneath Gringotts, often worth thousands of Galleons apiece. George could hardly drink all the money left over from his business ventures, after all, though it never stopped him from trying.
After a long night of attempting to spend every galleon in his coin purse on alcohol, George Weasley was staggering back home, to his humble loft above the original Weasley's Wizard Wheezes joke shop.
"Nasty chill tonight," George mumbled to himself, pulling his fine cloak tighter about his thin frame as he made his way home.
For all his bravado and all his showmanship, which he often used during important meetings with clientele, George still felt himself ache every time he thought of his brother. It had been less than a year since the death of Fred, and he still had trouble wrapping his head around how incredibly alone he was.
Fred had been George's twin brother. For all intents and purposes, they'd been attached at the hips since birth. They were best friends, confidants, and business partners. Twins in the magical world were more often than not gifted with a certain connection. No, they couldn't read each other's minds, per se, but there was always a certain comfort knowing that someone had your back, no matter what. George could only describe the sensation as a sort of warmth in the back of his mind.
But that warmth had become cold and empty since Fred's death.
The one thing that managed to help keep George's horrific depression at bay was Verity, the shopkeeper under his employ. It was a foolish mistake on his part, but somehow, during a very long shift with her, they'd grown immeasurably close, and though they were hardly an item, they often shared a bed. Still, when asked about his status as a wealthy bachelor, George would either groan irritably or simply say he was single. Women were the last thing on his mind, in recent days.
George felt his hole itch, and he knew that the snow that fell around him on his way home would likely turn to a blizzard, leaving him nearly snowed in the next morning. Usually, that itch in his ear would've been his brother, who would've stated that they should stay up late and try inventing and testing more merchandise… but that was not likely to happen while he was drunk and alone. After all, if he'd been testing the Nosebleed Nougats by himself, he'd have bled out and died during his fourth year at Hogwarts. No, he'd have to wait, or perhaps hire a third party company of testers to experiment and test the latest merchandise, which was rather bland thanks to George's overexertion of himself and his habit of drinking all the time.
He walked Diagon Alley with a sense of reminiscent wonder, which was seriously amplified by the alcohol. He saw many familiar places that had once meant the coming of the school year, and not that he was headed home. It was strange to think how his life had changed.
'I haven't been to the Magical Menagerie since my third year,' George thought, 'I should go inside when I have the time… perhaps release a few of the less dangerous animals as a prank, like me and Fred did way back when.'
That thought made George sick… or perhaps that was the liquor. Either way, he dashed to the side of the alley and held a barrel for support as he felt bile rise in his throat. As he was sick behind those barrels, the last Weasley twin was reminded of the first time he had drank, when he and Fred had sampled their father's firewhisky. It had burned so badly that they had both vomited. Molly Weasley had been furious, but Arthur had laughed and laughed, only bothering to deal out punishment after Molly had crossed her arms and glared him into submission.
He could still remember laughing until his stomach hurt when Fred had been unable to cope with the liquor. Somehow, the memory still made him giggle, and before he could stop himself, George Weasley was clutching onto the barrel for dear life, laughing like a madman as he remembered all the good times he'd had with his dead brother.
The tears from his being sick were now joined by those of genuine sadness, but still he laughed. He laughed at how pointless it all was. He laughed at how horrible the last year had been. He laughed at those years in Hogwarts where he and his brother had felt so stifled by their educations, and how, more than anything, he wished for those years back.
That was when a cold wind brushed past him, and set the hair on the nape of his neck standing straight up. George choked as the cold air became difficult to breath. Within his mind, he felt all of his worst experiences burst forth.
George Weasley was no stranger to the cold, nor to sadness. Of late, his life had been riddled with it… but now, they were both so strong and focused, he found that his legs didn't want to support him. Even the burn of the alcohol in his gut, which he counted on to keep him in a somewhat decent mood, was beginning to fade. What on earth could make that happen?
George only knew of one thing. He cupped a hand around his ear hole and listened carefully. His heart raced, and he thought he heard it a couple times…no… no, it was definitely there, and closing fast.
The sound of a choked, rattling breath caught his good ear. The cold grew so intense that ice crystals formed on George's thick velvet cloak. He shook his head, unable to grasp the severity of his situation. The fire that had burned in his stomach moments ago was now a solid ball of ice cold dread. George stumbled and tripped before dodging into the nearby alleyway between the Magical Menagerie and Gambol and Japes. He pressed himself up against the cold brick as he waited. He breathed as quietly as he could, not even stooping to brush the snow from his fancy robes that had been personally tailored for him.
He drew his wand, recalling the spell needed to repel the foe he had heard.
And then a whole new wave of eerie chilliness washed over him. His breath fogged. It was so cold that the snow, which had been coming down quite thick in the form of fluffy white flakes, had almost completely stopped.
The ragged, terrifying sound of someone choking on air came from down the alleyway he was hiding in. George turned, and there, wrapped in disheveled black robes, with large, scabby hands and a drawn hood, hovered a dementor.
George, while still quite drunk, was a master of defensive magic. His natural gifts with magic had only been amplified by his extensive training, both with Harry Potter and the D.A., and during his tenure as a member of the Order of the Phoenix. He was no stranger to dementors, either.
So when he froze where he stood, unable to draw his wand as the dementor slowly made its way through the snow towards him, he felt as though his life were flashing before his eyes.
Every single good memory he had was a memory of when Fred was still alive. Now that he was gone, all of those good memories were tainted with sadness. Somewhere in the back of George's mind, however, he knew that he was defenseless without a wand in his hand. He reached into his cloak and drew it, and the dementor paused for a moment. Perhaps it knew it was doing wrong. George wasn't familiar with the intricate whiles of creatures that guarded Azkaban.
He took a wide stance and aimed his wand at the dementor. It was a few moments, due to his sluggish brain, but the words came to his lips.
"Expecto Patronum!"
He waited. Usually after uttering the incantation, George was met with the laugh-like yelp of a silvery coyote. Instead, nothing happened, and the dementor advanced a little quicker. The bottom of its robes slid across the snow, leaving no footprints.
"Expecto… Expecto Patronum," George tried again, stumbling backward.
It did no good. Every time he tried to picture a good memory, it turned sour on him. He thought hard, trying to remember the last time he'd actually felt happy, or even laughed… wait a moment, that was it!
George recalled he and his brother, both sneaking drinks of their father's firewhisky. He remembered how long and hard he had laughed, and how happy he had been.
"Expecto Patronum!" he cried.
A slight silver mist was his only reward, and the dementor was feeding on it quickly. He only had a few seconds, at best. George backed away as fast as he could. Once he was out on the main thoroughfare, he could make a break for his shop.
His heel caught on an uneven stone concealed beneath the snow, and the jokester fell backward. The wand soared out of his hand and landed in somewhere under the blanket of snow. George lifted his head, which was throbbing painfully as he heard his brother's words in his head, replayed over and over by the sick power of the dementor.
It drew close as he drunkenly scrambled away. It leaned down over him, and its breath smelled of decaying flesh. George could feel something stirring, as though what little happiness he had was being torn out of him.
"Expecto Patronum!"
A woman's voice cut through the chill darkness pervading Diagon Alley. A silver bird- a falcon- soared through the air and pecked at the dementor. The creature threw up its arms to guards itself from the bird's talons before fleeing back into the shadows of the alleyway, where it flew upward and off into the night, leaving George dizzy in the snow as he quickly lost consciousness. The last thing he remembered was a woman rushing forward and kneeling at his side as she told him he would be alright.
Author's Notes
Well, after banging this out at... 4:53am, I am exhausted. I've had this fic sitting on my computer since 10/2/2016, and I finally got the initiative to clean it up, look it over and publish it. It's a thousand years too late, considering how old the Harry Potter fandom is, and how many fics there are of George and his patronus (or lack thereof) but I was bored, and needed a break from my other projects. Still, I'm hoping I can find a decent cover pic for this story. And I sort of have an idea for another chapter, so we'll see where that goes.
I wasn't expecting this story to be so damned sad but... all well.
Here's some sad music to go with this sad story. Just for funsies, of course.
all the kids are depressed-Jeremy Zucker
the broken hearts club-gnash
i don't wanna know her-timmies
Through the Valley-Shawn Jones
The Mystic-Adam Jensen
Houdini-nothing,nowhere
black heart-nothing,nowhere
Thanks for reading.
