George was smiling when he entered the closet room. Angelina and he had just moved into the house three days ago but George insisted on this room. Even though the room was small, it was a part of him. A part of him that he tried to recreate, now that it had gone missing.
The door to the room was right next to the mirror of the bedroom he and Angelina slept in. Sometimes, Angelina complained, liking all of the doors opened when she slept, but she understood why the closet room was there. She understood that it was a part of her husband. A part she had once loved. A part she had lost and grieved for. A part that she was destined to never forget.
George's smile subsided when he closed the closet door. A tear fell out of his eye as the past events flooded him. He couldn't bear it. He held the lump that should have been an ear and winced. It still hurt. Blood still poured out of the spot. George rubbed his eye nonstop as they slowly got redder. A part of him was punished to die. The other part, to suffer.
The boy reached into his pocket fingered for his wallet. Nobody had thought he would come this far. Everybody thought that no job fit him, being the prankster he was. George was too silly to be an Auror. Too lazy to play Quidditch professionally. He was even too disobedient to be a teacher, not to mention that he was a legend at Hogwarts now, the only school he would ever think of teaching.
Finally, George pulled out a set of Galleons and, in his hand, he counted them quietly.
It had grown into a habit that George honored. He would go into the room everyday and embrace in what he used to be. Then, he would leave and try to be happy. The room was how George survived in the world, the wretched, merciless world.
The "room" started out as a picture and bucket in the jokeshop. When the war ended, George put ten galleons in the bucket. When George married Angelina, he took out five from the bucket and pocketed them. It was a system that George had done for years. A system George promised he would never break.
George smirked as he put ten galleons in the bucket. Over the years, the bucket had become half full. George had designed a room specifically for the bucket itself, using the picture that was in the jokeshop as a plaque. The room was filled with pictures on the walls. There were cut pictures of every memory George could think of. In the corner, there was a pensieve. The shelf next to the pensieve was filled with vials. Vials that showed special moments between George and himself.
In the corner, there was a Quidditch uniform and a bat. George fingered the bat, outlining the cuts and scars with his own hand. The bat was the only thing between him and a bludger when he played Quidditch. He was brave. That's why he was placed in Gryffindor. That's why he, as a whole, was placed in Gryffindor.
Now, a few years after Hogwarts, George no longer felt brave. He felt like a coward. He wanted to hug his legs and rock in the corner. But he never did. He ran the joke shop like it was his life. He came home and kissed his beautiful wife, telling her all about his day. At times, George felt guilty. However, he knew that he couldn't stop the routine. He would not until he died. He had to live for the bucket. He had to be happy for the bucket. He had to survive for the bucket.
Suddenly, a smirk rested on George's face. The smirk looked a little out of place with wrinkles surrounding the expression.
"You were right Gred. Harry did propose to Ginny."
Then, George went out of the room. He stared at the mirror. To others, they were inseparable, but they were still Fred and George. However, George knew the truth. Though people called him George, he wasn't. He was Forge and he had a twin named Gred who died.
Nobody believed him when he said this. George could tell. Everytime the name "Forge" was mentioned, lips would curl down in sadness. However, everyone would still call him "George." However, when George looked in the mirror, he could see the truth. He didn't just see himself. He saw his deceased twin too. He was living his deceased twin's life. George had his girlfriend, his face, his grin. George wasn't himself, nor was he Fred. He was both, combined in one.
George closed his eyes and grimaced. Then he closed the door slowly with both of his hands on the handle. As the door clicked, George heard a single sound escape.
"I told you, didn't I Forge?"
And then, he smiled.