Something was missing…something much larger than his ear.

George sat alone in the back room of Weasly's Wizarding Wheezes, staring into a mirror. If he turned his head the right way, it was almost like looking at a picture of Fred.

"I'm not Fred, I'm George. Honestly, woman, you call yourself our mother? Can't you tell I'm George?"

At that memory, George smirked, and his reflection looked even more like his twin. All of the times they had tricked their friends and family…and nobody could ever tell them apart without needing a hint. It was one of the many things that irritated their mother.

"Blown up a toilet? We've never blown up a toilet."

"Great idea though, thanks, Mom."

They did end up blowing up a toilet that year, as George recalled. Not that they let their mother know.

Nobody really knew everything that the twins did, except for themselves, of course. George's smile vanished as he realized yet again that he was alone for the first time in his life. There was no one who knew exactly was he was thinking, no one to finish his sentences, no one to plot with…ever again…

"A lot of wizards think it's a waste of time, knowing this sort of Muggle trick, but we feel they're skills worth learning, even if they are a bit slow."

…no one but Fred would have understood the necessity of knowing how to pick locks while they were underage. It had taken them months to learn how. And there was other useful knowledge that only they two shared, like the Maurader's Map that helped them so much at school, before they passed it on to Harry.

That was way back in their first year…when they saw that drawer in Filch's office…

"Well, what would you have done? George caused a diversion by dropping another Dungbomb, I whipped the drawer open, and grabbed—"

George looked away from the mirror. He couldn't see his reflection anyway, not with the tears. Why did Fred's voice keep ringing in his head? All those memories he didn't want to remember…he had lost half of himself, and he'd never be whole again.

Unbidden, other memories from their last years at Hogwarts leaped to his mind.

"We've decided we don't care about getting into trouble anymore."

It was true. After all those years of toeing the line, they decided—together—that it no longer mattered if they behaved. They barely behaved as it was.

"Give her hell from us, Peeves."

Again, words in a voice he'd never again hear beside him. Fred was always the more outgoing twin, yet they were a perfect team. They could read each other's minds as easily as their own…they were the same person, split in two.

George carefully touched the hole in the side of his head, the only thing that had ever really set him apart from Fred, at least for a little while. He smiled again, remembering how scared Fred had been when it had happened, and then how disgusted at George's choice of a joke.

"Pathetic! With the whole wide world of ear-related humor before you, you go for holey?"

And then all was well between them, the fear and pain forgotten because they were safe together again.

But now there was no one to comfort George, to understand him completely. They were farther apart than they had ever been, and there was no way to bring Fred back.

George felt as though he could never, ever laugh again.

Behind him, his assistant entered the room. "Mr. Weasly? Are we going to reopen the shop?" she asked carefully, but hopefully.

Reopen the joke shop he had made with Fred? How could he? What was the point of jokes when there was nothing funny about the world anymore?

Another memory came to him, a voice that wasn't Fred's…

"We could all do with a few laughs."

George looked in the mirror again, and this time, he imagined he really did see Fred. But Fred wasn't solemn, or sad, or torn apart by loss. He looked exactly the way he had for most of his life: he was laughing.

After a moment's pause, George said quietly, "Yeah. It's what he would have wanted."

And he knew it was, because he knew Fred's mind as well as his own.