My first in what will be a series of different people's stories from after the war, let me know what you think. And who I should write about next.
Enjoy guys! xoxo
George
For the first few weeks, George didn't speak a word. With no one to finish his sentences, what was the point? He felt empty, his other half missing.
After a while he began to talk again, at first he merely answered any questions directed at him with a simple yes or no. Then, gradually, he started to converse again. Joined discussions over dinner, talked quiddich with Harry and Ron, even asked Hermione about whichever book she was reading at the time. But he never laughed, and he certainly didn't tell jokes.
Following Fred's ... George hadn't been able to step foot in Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. He couldn't bring himself to sell it and so asked Harry and Ron to box up his few belongings ("But leave everything of .. His." he had begged them hoarsely) and bring them back to the burrow. Finally the pair had boarded up the shop one rainy afternoon, and left it empty and lifeless at the end of Diagon Alley.
In fact it wasn't until Percy came home from the ministry, almost two years after the end of the war, brandishing an employee of the month certificate, that George declared with a smirk,
"Blimey Perce, we always knew you were a goody two shoes git, but there's no need to announce it to the world, I don't think I could live with the shame."
Silence fell over the Weasley's small living room and settled for a long moment over the disbelieving members of George's family. Until Mrs Weasley burst into loud tears an enveloped her son in a bone crushing hug.
"Oh, George. Oh, thank Merlin. I have been so worried."
"It's okay, Mum." He chuckled softly, patting her back. "I'm alright."
And, after moving back into his old flat, lovingly boxing up his twin's things, and reopening the shop, he was.