Gred and Forge.
I begin each day the same.
The sun seems to disregard my attempt to block it from view, breaking through the crack in the curtains, blinding to the morning eye; my hair is surely a more vibrant orange in this light.
Sitting up is always the same. I have a choice between two beds, but though part of me wants to choose the top bunk, somehow I wake up on the bottom.
Stretching is no mean feat. Beginning with each of the feet, working up my legs, my stomach, my arms. Finally, my neck. I tilt my head as far as possible one way, hold it a few seconds, then do the same with the other.
I reach beneath the bed and pull out a sock. My toe goes through a hole at the tip but I shove it in a shoe. Then I head towards the dresser and root inside a draw until I find another.
One look in the mirror is enough to put me off breakfast. Dragging a comb shortly through my unkept, fine hair once will do. It's in the process of growing, only just covering the distorted hole that was once my ear. I am indeed 'Holy'. As it stands, only half of me is in Heaven.
Now I find a shirt. I pull it roughly over my head, only stopping once to contemplate the idea that combing my hair was probably pointless. Next is a home-knitted cotton jumper, a large 'F' knitted on front. I sigh, not bothering to swap. They're both the same bar the name anyway.
It wasn't hard to find trousers. They were atop of a large pile of strewn up clothes across the floor. I won't bother tidying - they'll only fall to the same place by this time tomorrow anyway.
Breakfast was wasted on my lack of appetite, but I ate it anyway. There were two spaces left at the table. I took the right. Only two sausages remained. I ate them both.
All eyes are pinned directly on me. I continue chewing. The set of eyes I wanted, is no longer here.
We were running short on floo powder. Only enough for two. I took half and left the rest remaining. Before I had time to bid farewell, I was already in London.
A man was outside Florean Fortescue's. It had closed down last year. Ironic that he was holding an ice cream. Each time he tried to lick it, it melted across his hands. A joke if I ever saw one. I would say that though. Half of me invented it.
Each customer who enters the store stops me and begs for answers to jokes. I want to yell and warn them - nothing's a joke if only one can share it. What I voice is entirely different.
"Make friends with Peeves" I laugh and say. "You can't go wrong with him."
Lunch is always the same. I sit opposite an empty chair. As I guide my food blindly to my mouth, chewing deliberately before swallowing each mouthful, my eyes are peeled to the empty chair.
When it comes to restocking at the end of the day, I sigh and motion forward Nigel. He has a summer job here, but will be leaving at the end of the summer for Hogwarts. I'll put an advert in the Daily Prophet soon, I reminded myself. Business is booming and I can always do with an extra pair of hands.
Late home, it's always the same. Everyone but Ginny are already in bed. She silently waits by the fire, kissing my cheek gently, before turning and disappearing up the stairs.
Tears are blinding my vision. I'm leaking faster than a hose. No one's there to catch my moment of weakness though, they never are. It only happens when I'm alone.
I collapse against the door, eyes closed, exhausted.
Ripping off the jumper and peeling off the shirt, I head towards the shower. I wash my legs first. I only have two. Next is my arms, my feet, my hair. Always in that order.
Finally, I head back to my room. Two pairs of pyjamas are on the floor. One pair is brown. The other is blue. I choose the brown. It's always the brown.
The curtains are pulled shut. But there's a crack in the middle.
I deliberate a moment. Do I sleep top or bottom?
Giving in, I choose the bottom. I'll only end up there by morning anyway.
By the time I wake up, I'll begin the cycle again. It's always the same. Yet it never gets better.
...
This is actually what I wrote for my English Coursework, but I had Fred and George in mind when writing it :) It made me quite emotional actually. I don't know how I would feel if I lost my twin, but this is my take on how George might feel, trying to live without Fred :c