George could hardly stand to look at the garish storefront. Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes was once the place he was happiest, but he wasn't sure he could go back inside.

He held the key in his hand. It was pewter and had a gold 'G' at the top. Next to that key, the other dangled uselessly on the keychain- the one with the gold 'F.'

George didn't cry. He really wasn't the type, and besides, he doubted that any tears remained inside him. Instead, he frowned sadly at the bright door leading into the shop. Well, he had to go in sometime.

He turned the key in the lock and pushed the door open. Even though he'd walked in those doors hundreds of times, the wonders inside still took him by surprise sometimes. Charmed airplanes were still soaring around the shop, and boxes of brightly colored Skiving Snackboxes lined the shelves in front of the till.

George closed his eyes and tried to steady his breathing. Why did he have to come to this place again? He had once loved it, but now the cheerfulness of it mocked him.

He went to the back room and took inventory without really thinking about what he was doing. Before he knew it, George had made his way to his and Fred's flat above the shop and collapsed into his bed.

Tomorrow would be the day Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes reopened for the first time since Fred's death. Nearly everyone George knew had promised to come. He wasn't really looking forward to their presence. He'd grown tired of their concerned faces, and didn't want to reassure them any more. Yes, I'm fine. Of course I miss him sometimes, but life goes on, you know?

He was awoken the next day by Verity, the young blond witch who worked as second-in-command of the store. "Up and at 'em, Georgey!" She was already wearing her staff robes, and when George opened one eye, he saw that the sun was already high in the sky.

"What's the time? Shouldn't we be open?"

"Past nine. I wanted to let you get a little extra sleep. Come on, people are lining up at the door!"

George rushed into the tiny bathroom of the flat and tried to hurry up with his bath. As usual, he couldn't get his ear-patch to stay on. Without it, though, nothing would keep the water from rushing into the hole on the side of his face.

When he finally emerged in his magenta staff robes, Verity was close to bursting with enthusiasm. "Time to open up! Hope you're ready for a mob!"

She flipped the sign on the window from "GO WASTE YOUR MONEY ELSEWHERE!" to "COME IN ALREADY!"

To George's horror, the very first people to walk in were his parents. They'd brought along Ron, Hermione, Harry, Ginny, and... oh God. It was the group therapist again.

"George!" the four teenagers smiled and came up to him. Behind them, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley stood with Madame Hoppinshaft, who was carrying a magical voice recorder, as usual.

After being hugged and greeted by his friends and family, Madame Hoppinshaft spoke for the first time, "George, lovely to see you again. Your parents wanted me to come along so we could all chat again, all right?" George looked at his parents' shining, hopeful faces. Madame had a way of persuasion that only seemed to work on middle-aged witches and wizards like his parents. As she spoke, she tilted her head first one way, then the other, like a soothing chant.

"Erm. Okay. To the back room, then?" George didn't even pretend he was happy to see Madame Hoppinshaft. Every time he saw her, she somehow made him look like a head case (a theory that Mr. and Mrs. Weasley seemed all too eager to accept).

The group sat in the back room and looked at Madame. Ginny and Harry held hands, while Ron put his arm around Hermione. George tried to ignore the pang of envy he felt in his chest.

"Well, let's get started, shall we, everyone?" Madame's voice trilled. "First, I'd like to begin by going around the circle and telling the group their worries."

Worries?! This woman knows nothing about my "worries."

"Mr. Weasley? Let's start with you and go clockwise, if you please."

"Certainly. Well, worries..." George didn't listen to his parents' petty worries, or to Ron's or Hermione's. He knew they were all worried about him. Worried that he wasn't healing, worried that none of their sympathies made a difference. Something that Ginny said made him sit up and take notice, though:

"I'm worried that things will never be the same as before losing Fred, or all those Aurors. Sometimes it just seems so impossible, that all this business with Voldemort is behind us... because how can it be, without my brother?" She was close to tears now, and Harry rubbed her back to comfort her.

"Yes, yes, I think you've tapped into a healthy aura today, Ginny. Don't be afraid to let your feelings out. And now we move on to George. Worries, George?"

George was trying to think of something to say, but he was drawing a blank. "Worry" wasn't the right word for his situation. "Hollowness," maybe. But what was he worried about? What even mattered to worry about?

"George?"

"I'm not worried."

"Come now, my dear boy, everybody worries! See, all these people," she gestured with her hand to the others, "They all admit to it. Just share one."

"I'm not worried anymore! There is NOTHING to worry about. Don't you get it?"

He stormed out of the back room breathing sharply. To make matters worse, as he left, he heard Hoppinshaft mutter, "Ahh, well I'll have to add 'paranoid outbursts' to that list.. now where did I put it?"