George was gone the night Fred was gone. He remained an empty shell of what once had been a mere shadow of a person, working on autopilot. Nothing was noteworthy any more; no day had any significance to him. He couldn't remember what he had done the day before, but he could guess that it was just like today, the same work, the same food, the same time consuming exercises before the same dreamless sleep. He sold the shop to somebody a while before, for an office job that was regular and uncreative and emotionless. One that never reminded him of Fred.
He cried himself to sleep at the beginning, each day seemed like a turmoil of emotions before his tears finally ran out and he turned off. The spark in his eye was gone, together with most of his attention and sense of wonder. He stopped reminding anybody of Fred. He stopped reminding anybody of George.
He stopped giving himself free time at some point. What was the point in free time if you had no will to do anything? So he worked harder, getting bonus money that went straight to his bank account and never out. He didn't care about money any more. He didn't need it for much, except for food and clothes. He barely remembered what it was like when it mattered to him, when anything mattered to him. Any passion he used to have was gone.
He excelled in his work. He never stopped to do something for fun, never procrastinated, never day-dreamed. At the beginning, it was because he was afraid to, but later it was because he couldn't. He didn't remember how to break out from the norm, how to improvise, how to hope. His entire life was planned in front of him, and it could be summarised with one page with one word: normal.
Then she came. He didn't notice her at first, barely remembered he knew her, but she knew him. Every day she talked to him, about the weather, about his family, about old times. Slowly, he recognised her. Slowly, she begun to recognise him, the George she knew in school. He'd smile more. He was told off for not focusing, for the first time in his career. She was slowly lifting him out of his bubble and back into the world. He gave up the bonus hours because he finally heeded some free time, in which he did nothing at all, and enjoyed it. He actually felt good.
He bought the shop back, and quit his job. He suddenly saw so many opportunities in life, so many ways to live. He said jokes, just like he used to, turning every situation positive. He remembered he had a family. Friends. Reasons to live. He had the spark in his eye again, revealing itself whenever he immersed himself in another project, another creation. It was weak, at first, than somewhat obsessive, but nobody minded. It was better than the other version of him.
He confronted his past, after many weeks of avoiding the thought of his twin. The nightmares cam back occasionally, but they weren't his only dreams any more. He had good dreams. Dreams of th time he and Fred had. Dreams of her. Even dreams of Quidditch, pointless and childish, started flowing back into his head, and he cherished every single one of them, every night he wasn't alone, wasn't empty.
Good news were sent to him, and he was finally able to enjoy them. His brothers' weddings. Teddy's birthday. The announcements of children. He was happy for them. Happy. He said the word over and over again in his house when he was alone. Happy. Happy. It was a good feeling, and it actually meant something for him. He was amazed at how quickly he forgot how it felt being happy. Actually happy. It became a mantra which he repeated before he went to sleep. Happy. Happy.
He was finally ready to have his own life. He was engaged to her, then married. He had hopes and fears for the future, emotions that, even at their worst, still meant everything to him, because he could feel them. Hopeful, scared, happy. Happy. He had a child, and that child commemorated his loss, and his final acceptance of him. The kid meant everything to him and her. He was everything he cold hope for.
He lead a happy life, taking every opportunity and savouring every moment, because he understood then how quickly life can pass when you don't pay attention. He saw his boys first steps, his first word. Not mummy or daddy. Happy. Happy. He was overcome with joy when he heard it. He was happy, his wife was happy, his son was happy.
He crept back to his former glory, one step at a time towards peace, and she was there for him at every step. He was whole again, his life once more focused around joy, but this time from a different angle. He made others happy, and he was happy doing it. It was what he was meant to do. He was eternally glad every time he fit a smile to a face.
His family relied on him again. To say the jokes, to disperse awkwardness at any given moment. He was George again, and they could say his name without a crease appearing on their foreheads, because they knew he was back from the land of the dead. They knew who he was again. He knew who he was again.
The time he was lost was a blur to him now, but he wasn't lost any more. He knew where he was, who he was, what he was. He was alive. The past haunted him and the present loomed over him, but he didn't mind. It was better than forgetting them. Ignoring them because they were too tough to think about. He made peace with them and his surroundings. All was well.