Happiness was etched on his face, and yet his brother couldn't understand how he could look so gleeful. This laughing face was the only thing he saw, his brother's voice the only thing he heard in his head. Nothing else mattered to him. Not his mother, hysterical, slumped over the body of her son, not the other fifty bodies that lay on the floor, not the fact that his younger brother's best friend was probably going to die, along with the happiness of the entire wizarding world; just the laughing face that was before him. He was looking into his own face, or what he wished he was feeling. But how? How could his life ever be the same again? He felt like the only person in the entire world. Only he knew this kind of pain. He had lost a part of him. He wanted to be secluded from the entire world. He wanted to sit here on the cold stone floor and wallow for the rest of his life. It felt like he had never been happy in his life, though he had spent the majority of his time laughing.
George awoke with a start. He was covered in cold sweat. Another nightmare. It was the same one he had been having for over six months, when sleep finally found him, but scarcely. He checked his watch. Five o'clock. He had only slept two hours, but he could not possibly go back to sleep. It would be useless. He got up from the bed, which actually was not his. He hadn't slept in his own bed since May. He adjusted the crooked wooden F above the headboard and stepped back to check it. George sighed deeply the slumped back onto the bed. He looked over to the small kitchen table. Two years ago two identical freckled faces were squashed in sleep upon that table top along with many failed products. They were preparing for Christmas. George hadn't even bothered to make any new products for Christmas this year. Everybody would just have to deal with what he had. There was a faint knock at the flat's door. With a flick of his wand, George opened the door.
"Hi." said Ron with a faint smile.
"What are you doing here so early? Why aren't you sleeping?" George asked. "I'm fine. You don't have to lose sleep for me, you know."
"I know, I know, keep your hair on." Ron replied. George's stomach turned. That was Fred's line.
"I just thought I'd come earlier today. I knew you'd be awake."
"Yeah, alright." George replied. He could do with some company.
"Want me to make some tea?" Ron asked
"No, don't trouble yourself. Let me."
"Take it easy, mate." Ron said hastily as George winced getting up from the bed. The other day, George had eaten a Puking Pastille without realizing it and misplaced the other end. He was still feeling a bit faint from it.
"Maybe you should just let me run the shop for today. You won't be able to stand for more than two minutes, condition you're in," Ron suggested.
"No. it's Christmastime. The sales will be insane. It's a two man job." George said pointedly.
"Well, no offence, mate, but you won't be much help." Ron replied.
"Fine, but if some bloody customer is too much for you to handle, I don't want to hear about it."
What was he talking about? George himself had been short tempered with his customers lately, and he had always been patient before. He thought everybody knew about Fred by now, so he lashed out at anyone who asked him what was wrong. George needed a day of relaxation, and this was the day.