George woke up with a gasp. It was just a dream, a nasty, horrible dream. He sat up from his bed and shivered. He coughed violently all last night, he had caught an illness and it seemed to have got worse. He lay back down again and turned to look at the empty bed next to him, Fred's bed. He had left it as it was. The bed un-made, the pillow with a head shaped mark in the centre and sweet wrappers at the end of the bed. That was how it looked like in Fred's last morning of his life.
He hadn't slept properly in at least a week, since Fred's death. Not just because of his hacking cough, but he's been having the same dream, over and over again. Fred running up the Hogwarts stairs in the great wizard war against Voldemort; Fred was with Ron, Harry and Hermione. There was a huge blast, as the wall next to them blew up. They all stood up coughing, apart from Fred. Fred had died, and there's nothing he can do about it. Nothing but wait until he can get old enough to die. He even wrote a letter to Fred, even though he knew that he won't receive it. He remembered how he whispered into his owl's ear,
"If you can, please send this to Fred."
He looked into the crisp evening air, gave a deep breath and let him fly of his arm into the sunset. But the owl had never come back.
That was about a month ago, when the coughing just started. George visited his mum and dad often, the same with Harry and Ginny, who he got pretty close with.
He looked at the clock: 6:31 am. Time to go and open his shop, he got up from his bed and stepped over a packet of glow in the dark bubble gum, and went to his wardrobe to fetch his grey shirt, orange tie and magenta robe, which he uses as uniform in the shop.
It only took him a few minutes to get changed and pack his bag with snacks to last him for the day. He took one last look at the room. His bed, un-made like Fred's, stood by the window, and boxes of unfinished products were in piles next to his wardrobe; he would come and collect them at the end of the day because he was going down to the Burrow. The Burrow, where his parents lived, was the place where he made most of his products. Molly wasn't particularly happy about him mending and creating his products in his bedroom because she was afraid he was going to make a mess, but she let him do it anyway. George picked up his suitcase and disapperated.