The battle was won. Voldemort had lost. So why did George feel like a loser as well? He walked through the familiar corridors, seeing the destruction and evidence of lost lives. He felt a sudden pain at that. A sharp, aching pain in his chest. It kept getting bigger and bigger until he just shut it out. Shut those feelings out. He kept walking, walking with a sense of purpose, even though he had no direction. He just walked and walked until he stumbled upon a room. It was fairly untouched, except for the giant hole blown in the ceiling. Inside was a single object. A tall, grand mirror stood upright in the corner, and it glinted as the sun hit it. He walked over and stood in front of it. Expecting to see a dishevelled, sad, battered boy staring back at him, he was surprised to see a very healthy man staring back. Happy, and well, with his arms draped around a very similar looking man, with ginger hair and a mischievous smile. The two boys in the mirror smiled back, and as George reached out for the surface of the mirror with his right hand, the second boy, with a single tear running down his smiling face reached out with his left hand, reaching out for the young man who now finally cried for the part of himself which he had lost.