"I have decided." George announced, as he stood up abruptly, and at the same time pushing a few beans off of his plate. "I will reopen the store, but name it 'George's Joke Store' instead. I will change the name back once I have….fully accepted my brother's fate." He stated solemnly.

This left a rather confused atmosphere in the room – nobody knew whether to clap and rejoice for the decision made, or to mourn (yet again) for the loss of Fred.

It was dinnertime at the Weasley's, and everyone was gathered around the table. And by everyone, I mean just that. Harry was enjoying Mrs. Weasley's homemade mashed potatoes with gravy, with a few scars still showing on his face, serving as a reminder of the war. His glasses were repaired, and he was wearing a checkered casual collar shirt. Hermione's hair had grown much longer – she had been too lazy to cut it. It was the same color, a chocolaty brown with a few hazel and golden streaks of hair highlighting the curls. She was wearing her usual dull pink sweater, and new jeans. Luna looked just about the same – her incredibly long hair had grown even longer, and the blond was the same familiar color. Next to her was her father, Xenophilius (who looked the same as before), and her new boyfriend, Neville. His outfit was very similar to Harry's and he had gotten a haircut. Even Hagrid had agreed to visit the Burrow for dinner, which was something he did quite rarely. And, of course, the rest of the Weasley family was there – George, who still looked rather depressed, Bill, Charlie, and even Percy was present. And, last but not least, Ginny sat next to Harry (of course), and looked the same, if not better than before.

"That's very good to hear, my boy." Arthur Weasley stated, almost expressionless.

And after that, a few more murmurs of encouragement could be heard.

Everyone was starting to move on, but the scars of war would never be erased completely.

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Time is a precious thing. For every second or moment that has passed in our lives would never again repeat itself – or will it?

That was the description on the labeled vial in George's bedroom. It was placed rather casually in a plain case (so as to not attract any attention) on George's desk. He inspected his room again. There was an empty space next to his bed – there had once been a bed there, which belonged to Fred, but his mother had removed it in order to prevent him from feeling even more grief for the loss. The truth was, the disappearance of Fred's belongings had made George feel even more worse – he didn't feel sad anymore, but he felt more….empty, and lost. The light green curtains were drawn back, and small rays of sunshine illuminated the room slightly. It was 6 in the morning, and George was working on his new products. So far he had already created 27 original products (in only one week). He had dedicated himself to his work in order to keep Fred out of his mind. It was working (so far, at least).

He added the last ingredient to his new surprise invention. Although he had only produced one tiny drop, that precious liquid was enough to perform great wonders if consumed. George had learned how to make that from a book that he bought from a curious old traveler that he had met at Fred's funeral. The title of the book was called, "The Cichlid Flower Species: An Encyclopedia". Of course, this title was used to fool others – I mean, no one would actually care to read this book. It was meant as a secret, for in it, lay the best potions and remedies of all time in the wizarding world. There was one particular recipe in it that intrigued George greatly. It was called "Timeless". It was described (in scribbly handwriting) as a potion used to turn back, or go forward, in time. Now, George wasn't expecting it to actually work, but he decided to try it, for entertainment purposes. And, if he did succeed, he could, maybe, even prevent his brother's death.

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A girl in the huge garden outside the Burrow rolled up her sleeves, and set back to work. She bent down and plucked the strange berries – they were a mixture of colors – some were murky blue, and some were rusty red – some were even both! Her vibrant red hair was hanging down her back – she cursed herself silently for forgetting to bring a hairtie. Not too far away from her stood another girl, who was doing the exact same thing. She had her long blonde hair tied into a loose ponytail, and was wearing a strange cardigan with vibrant patterns on it. George had instructed them to pick the berries. Although they didn't know why, they did it anyway – there was nothing else to do in the last week of summer. The sun beat down on them and Ginny wiped the sweat off her forehead. Luna continued at the task dutifully.

Inside the house, everyone was busy. Harry had just woken up (even though it was already 10 in the morning), and he was discussing a topic that had popped up in the Daily Prophet with Arthur Weasley. Bill and Charlie had already left early in the morning, and Ron was playing a small game of Quidditch with George and Percy. Hermione stood on the side, watching the game while reading a new book at the same time. She had planned to return to Hogwarts after the summer. Molly Weasley was preparing a late breakfast, while checking the old clock every few minutes or so. Neville had accompanied Xenophilius to the back garden to study some plants early in the morning, and hadn't been back since. And, last but not least, Hagrid was in Arthur's shed (with his permission), building a surprise gift for the Weasleys.

"Breakfast is ready, everyone!" Molly shouted in her loudest voice. Unfortunately, her loudest voice wasn't loud enough. Harry went to the garden to call Neville, Xenophilius, Ginny, and Luna to eat; while Arthur went to the shed to call Hagrid, and also to the field where the boys were playing Quidditch (and Hermione, who was watching).

The table was filled with mouthwatering food. There were rolls of freshly baked butter buns, a huge plate of scrambled eggs, a few jugs of apple juice, many small plates of sausages (and a few strips of bacon alongside), and finally, many trays of toast, waiting patiently to be buttered.