"Do you ever think we could have been more?" George asked his twin.
"Sorry, bro," said Fred, grabbing a roll out of the basket on the table. He ripped off a huge bite and proceeded to talk with his mouth full. "I don't think of you that way."
"No, that's not what I meant!" George laughed. He turned away from the window where he had been people watching the street outside their apartment. "I mean, in another life, if things had been different, could we have been greater people?"
Fred gave him a look. "What, do you want to be Prime Minister or something?"
George shook his head. "I don't know, I just get this feeling sometimes, like I'm supposed to be doing something else. Do you ever get that?"
The twins had nearly everything in common. Fred insisted that he was the more handsome of the two, but even their mother joked about how identical they were. Even their personalities were alike when they were together. It would make sense that they'd share this, too.
"No," Fred said resolutely. He finished his roll and fished his car keys out of the otherwise empty flower pot by the door. "I don't get that feeling because I'm not a balding, middle-aged man with a sucky job. Come on, Mr. Serious, we've got a shop to run."
"Oh fine," George muttered. He wasn't annoyed enough not to laugh when Fred walked down the stairs in zig zags like he was drunk or the stair case was moving. He always knew how to cheer him up.
/p
The basket of rolls stared back at George, reflecting their mutual lack of expression. The flat above the shop had a nice view of Diagon Ally, but like most mornings, it didn't interest him. The bread was Fred's favorite kind, or would have been if he were still here. He'd made it yesterday, thinking it would help. It didn't. George scowled at the calendar hanging over the fireplace, lit despite the heat of summer. It would be another lonely birthday.
George slammed his palms into the table, upsetting the bread basket as he got to his feet. He stalked over to the flower pot on the mantle and scooped out some floo powder. The coarse dust seeped through his fingers and got under his bitten-off nails. He shouted the first place he thought of and threw the stuff into the flames, barely stepping into the emerald glow in time before they dulled to searing red once again.
/p
It was another slow day at the shop. Their joke products had never gotten a bad review, but they were a dime a dozen. The circulation of Weasley products was confined to a small circle of loyal buyers. It was a good laugh to hear back from their customers, but the profit margin was not a laughing matter.
"George," Fred called him to the counter when there weren't any customers. He was slumped over the wood surface and looked like the picture of frustration.
"What is it?" George asked, concerned.
"I've got all these ideas," Fred explained. He ran a hand through his hair and looked up at his twin. "I've got plans in my head for jokes that are /funny/, jokes that would /sell/. They'd be hilarious! Get this, Puking Pasties. They'd get you out of class without the health consequences."
"That could never work," George reminded him.
"Not with conventional means," Fred continued. "But if there was a way to make a sort of quick-working antidote, it'd be perfect!"
"It's a good dream, Fred," George said after a pause.
"Yeah," said Fred, the excitement quickly fading from his eyes. "A dream."
/p
George often imaged how things would be different. It happened most often on their birthday and Fred's death day. They'd both be alive and still running the shop. For it to be possible, some things would have to have to be different. Magic. What if there was no such thing as magic? A world with no killing curses or Death Eaters might be one where Fred could survive.
It was times like these that George hated magic.
At the shop, people still bought jokes. In the days after end of the war, business had been at its best. Pranks and charms practically flew off the shelves. George found himself very rich. He didn't see the point in being able to buy whatever he wanted when he couldn't share it.
Gradually business died down. George didn't have it in him to make anything new, so people got bored. George was tired. He missed Fred so much.
/p
Fred waved a hand in front of his twin's face. George snapped to attention.
"I know entertaining all our many customers can be exhausting," Fred said, smiling at the empty shop. "but save your day dreaming for later, yeah?"
George smiled weakly. "I know, it's just... I've been thinking again."
Fred made an 'oh no' gesture.
"It's the possibilities," George said after a chuckle.
Fred stopped suddenly. He didn't like hearing about this.
"What if... what if it's true?" George continued, knowing this wouldn't end well. "What if- If magic was real, and you could make all those things you think about? Wouldn't that be great?"
His amazement was not reflected in Fred's gaze. "You know it's not like that George."
"Yes," George conceded, "but hear me out. I get glimpses, snippets of what a wizarding world would be like. Don't you get that too?"
"We've been over this," Fred sighed. "I used to. They stopped when we were out of high school. We may be twins, but we're not telepathic."
"I guess you're right," George frown. He thought a moment, then chuckled. "I just like the idea, you know?"
Fred nodded. "I know."
/p
In realities that ran so close to one another, a George that wished for magic and a George that had lost his brother longed for the other world, the other possibility. Occasionally they would sense each other and envy would fill them, followed by remorse and covered by forget. They lived out their days as best they could, wondering what could have been.