21 - Prologue

An orange Spring sun peeked over a rooftop on Diagon Alley, sending fragmented rays over the quiet, cobblestone street. Sunlight highlighted windows displaying the latest in dress robes, broomsticks, but mostly, closed signs. At seven in the morning, most shopkeepers were still in their beds, eager to catch as many winks of sleep as they possibly could. Not that a Thursday morning was ever busy, in fact Thursday was the day that most shopkeepers walked into their shops right at opening time. Except one.

As the sun raised a little higher in the sky, a ray of sun hit an equally orange target. The target was the back of Mr. George Weasley's head. George was standing, back to sun, face to door, in front of his own shop, as was now customary whenever he arrived for work. It had been ten months since his best friend, business partner, and twin had died, but his hand still trembled slightly as he traced the three W's on the door, the logo of 'Weasley's Wizard Wheezes'. Yet his eyes were dry, too many tears had been shed in this exact spot for his liking. This was his new morning ritual, get up, apparate in front of the door, wait for the sun to rise staring at the door, trace the three W's, and then after a moment, unlock the door and begin the day. When Fred had been alive, they would unlock from the inside since their flat was just above the shop, but after the war which had taken his life, George hadn't even tried to go upstairs, for fear of what unfinished sandwich or undone laundry would be sitting there as Fred's last imprint on their home.

Whatever it was, he did truly hope it wasn't the sandwich, the mould would make his mother cry harder then knowing it had been Fred's. George chuckled in spite of himself at the thought of this.

No, George had spent the last ten months drifting between the Burrow, Lee Jordan's, and as of late, Angelina Johnson's. But he had never stopped coming to work, his business, their business, was not going to suffer on his account. Business had still been steady, although not many new products made it onto the shelves. It had been hard for George to find inspiration lately, so he focused on selling what he had, keeping it fresh, and trying to hold himself together every step of the way.

George slid the small gold key into it's lock and took a step inside he and Fred's heaven of mayhem. Sunlight was coming through the front window, lighting up a few of the products, and George immediately got done to work, restocking some fake wands that had been selling well the past few days, cleaning up the Muggle tricks section of the store, which always seemed to collect dust, and feeding the Pygmy puffs. Brushing off his hands and giving a half-smile to the squeaking little balls of fluff, he took a glance at the clock on the wall. Not quite eight. George could almost hear Fred in his head, telling him off for coming in, knowing he wouldn't open until at least nine o'clock just because he could. But he needed to, this was his routine, and routine kept him stable, and today, he needed stable.

Especially today, thought George, taking a glance towards the door at the back of the shop. Taking a sigh and running his hand through his ginger hair, he took such long strides that his nose was, for the second time that morning, pressed against a door. He reached out a sweaty, shaky palm grabbed at the handle, and slowly opened the door.

Twenty steps, that's all it would take him. He had walked up and down this staircase thousands of times, but now, they were about to become the hardest steps to take in his life, and that included Fred's funeral. There, he had his mother holding fast to his right arm, and Lee Jordan on his left, with a supportive arm around his shoulders holding him up. Between the three of them, they had been able to cry into each other's shoulders during McGonagall's eulogy, laugh together at the stories Charlie told about Fred as a kid, and when it had come to say their final goodbye to Fred, they had clung to each other with every step towards his casket before it had been lowered into the ground.

Here, it was only George Gideon Weasley. Taking a deep breathe to steady himself, he began his ascent up the staircase towards their flat.

Hope you like this little prelude! Every chapter following this will be one chapter for each of the twins years together which will eventually lead back here.

Let me know what you think!

~ M. Merra