Author's Note: If you missed it in the summary, this contains spoilers for Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. (Though what you're doing reading fanfiction if you haven't finished the seventh Harry Potter book is beyond me.)
Disclaimer: I'm merely borrowing JK Rowling's world for a little while.
George Weasley tapped the worn brick wall behind the Leaky Cauldron with his wand, carefully counting off the bricks aloud under his breath.
Although the Weasley twins had closed Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes, they had continued to pay rent on it at a reduced price, so that when the war was over they could return to it all that much sooner. But George had put off going back to their premises (now his premises he realized with a painful jolt) for two months longer than necessary. He had managed to continue on with the mail-order service, but his heart hadn't been in it and he'd ended up goofing a few orders. The most memorable being when George had, instead of sending a love potion, sent a temporary hair growth potion instead. Artemis Badru had not been happy when his crush had sprouted a moustache and side burns.
Fred, once he stopped laughing, would have been appalled.
Fred.
George's stomach twisted uncomfortably and he lost count of the bricks.
Fred's funeral had been intended to be a small and private affair with mostly family and a few close friends, but Fred had been more popular than their parents had realized. Word had gotten out and there had been triple the number of people that Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had expected: all the surviving members of the Order, teachers from Hogwarts, many past and present Hogwarts students, and even a few regular customers from Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes.
During the funeral everyone had kept glancing at George worriedly, as though he were going to break into a million pieces at any moment. But he had been so very numb at the time that it wasn't until a couple days later that the gravity of what had happened had sunk in. He was no longer a we or a Fred and George or a Weasley twin or even a Gred and Forge. He was just George, the sad left-over remains of what was once an inseparable duo.
Pushing the image of Fred's gleaming, mahogany coffin out of his head, George started up with counting bricks once more. He knew he could have just apparated to the shop, but he wanted to do things the slower, less conventional way so that he could steel himself to face their- no, his –abandoned, empty shop.
Finally tapping the correct brick, the surrounding bricks began to move out of the way and Diagon Alley appeared before him.
George took a deep breath, then plunged into the thick of Diagon Alley. It was amazing what the fall of Voldemort could do to a place.
When George had last been down Diagon, the tension in the air had been so thick one could have split it with a knife. The few that had dared walk the streets had tended to stay together in close knit groups and no one loitered about. Now there were crowds of people just milling around, smiling and laughing. Unbelievably, laughter still existed in the world, even if Fred didn't.
George continued on down, weaving his way around and through the crowds. He glanced at the shops that lined the street on his way to Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes. Had it only been three months ago that most of the shops had been abandoned and unsavory businesses had popped up in their stead? Now nearly all the old stores were open again and the dark magic establishments had been beaten back down Knockturn Alley.
George followed the usual route to Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes: turn left at the apothecary and follow the street down towards Gringotts and hang another left at Gambol and Japes Wizarding Joke Shop. He couldn't resist the urge to stop and peer in the window at Gambol and Japes. It used to be Fred and George's favorite haunt in Diagon Alley, but now the joke store was competition.
There was quite a crowd inside the store. Gambol and Japes were no doubt enjoying their renewed monopoly on Diagon Alley now that Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes was closed.
He noticed with irritation that the store was selling something very similar to Skiving Snackboxes only instead of Puking Pastilles, they were offering Puking Pastries. George could easily imagine Fred's reaction to such a dirty maneuver.
Those sneaking, underhanded bastards! After all the business we gave them in our early years and that's how they repay us?!
George continued on towards number 93, the site of Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes. He was walking more briskly than before. Every minute wasted was another minute of Gambol and Japes stealing products and customers.
When the boarded up joke shop came into view, however, he stopped so abruptly that someone knocked into him.
"Watch it!" the cloaked man snarled and then continued on his way.
George didn't seem to hear him. He was too busy staring at the empty joke shop. Looking into Gambol and Japes, the old entrepreneur drive had rekindled, but seeing the old shop with boards covering the windows where their vibrant U-No-Poo signs had once hung made it die back down again.
They'd been a brilliant, well-oiled machine, Fred and George. That was what had made their joke shop such a success. They had been able to bounce ideas off of one another, knowing that if an idea stunk the other would say so. When one twin hit a roadblock in developing a product, the other would suggest a new solution. They'd even used one another as guinea pigs for new joke products.
George was going to carry on with Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes. He felt as though he had no other choice for what else was there for him to do? But he knew it would never be the same as it once was. He'd never write down the results on a clipboard as Fred tested whatever new product they were working out. He'd never chuck his pillow at Fred when his twin woke him up in the middle of the night, face flushed with a new idea for their joke shop.
He swallowed hard and approached the shop. After a couple of muttered incantations, lifting the security spells he and Fred had placed over their beloved store, George went inside.
It was dim inside. The main room's only source of light was the dusty sunlight slipping in through the cracks between the boards that covered the windows.
"Lumos," George said into the eerie quiet. He could hear the muted sounds of the crowds in Diagon Alley, but looking around the store, which was uninhabited save for a few spiders, it felt as though he were quite separate from the rest of the living world.
George had, in fact, always felt somewhat separated from other people. He and Fred formed their own little bubble of brotherhood and twin-ness against the world. There was Fred and George and then there was everyone else.
He ran a hand along the barren register, which hadn't been opened in many months.
George wondered if a part of himself had died along with Fred. He imagined it was very much like having a limb amputated, only instead of a leg or an arm, it had been Fred, his other half. He was incomplete without him.
He looked around the store, mentally composing a to-do list. He would need to give the place a good cleaning first, contact Verity to see if she wanted her old job back, move back into the flat upstairs, set up the displays once more, begin producing merchandise again, and that was only to start.
It was a lot of work for one person.
Deciding that he would prefer to be stressed in natural light than the magically produced kind, George vanished the boards that had covered the store's windows. Immediately the sunlight shown in and lightened up even the darkest and dustiest of corners.
George headed to the back and up the stairs that led to the flat above the store. It would need to be cleaned first and made livable again before he did anything else.
He robotically began cleaning up the flat, absently banishing away spiders and scourgifying away the dust that had settled a thick blanket over everything.
It wasn't long at all before he came to the mirror. George had been avoiding mirrors, not wanting to see even the shadow of his twin. But now, being back at their joke shop, he didn't want to feel so alone.
He slowly wiped away the dust with his sleeve and gazed into the eyes of his double. He wanted to see Fred staring back at him, but it was so obviously George. He squinted a little, and yes, there was a blurred version of Fred standing in front of him.
Even after George had lost his ear to Snape, he and Fred hadn't seriously discussed what would happen if one of them died. They had just assumed that they would leave the world the same way they had come into it: together. A world without the two of them was possible, but a world with only a Fred or a George hadn't seemed conceivable. Neither thought that the other would have the audacity to leave their twin behind.
George rested his forehead to its double in the mirror. "You git."
Author's Note: Was this passable crap or just crap? Tell me in a review.