Rebuilding after the war seemed to Harry, to be harder than fighting the war itself. Everyone had lost so much that they held dear, and so many of their loved ones. Nearly every witch and wizard in Britain as well as some Muggles were mourning. It hardly seemed like a victory.
Harry realised that George had been hit the hardest among everyone he knew. The ear, one could do without, but to lose Fred...it had broken him. For as long as Harry could remember, both of them had been inseparable. Two halves of a whole. It must have been like losing a part of himself, Harry thought. He did not pretend to understand what George could possibly be going through but he did let his friend know that he would always be there if needed, as did the other Weasleys, and even Hermione.
However, despite their persistent efforts, George withdrew into a shell, barely speaking or even eating and avoiding nearly all human contact. His friends and family worried for him, but their frequent visits were often futile, for he refused to even open the door for them. It was heart wrenching for Harry to watch his friend fall apart like that, all while knowing there was nothing he could do to stop it.
The twins' prized shop fell into disuse and eventually, the landlord told the Weasleys that he wished to close it down. Harry remembered how George had once mentioned to him that the shop meant nothing without Fred. And so, despite his reluctance to see it go, he volunteered to be the one to pack up, knowing George would not do it. It was a painful process to have to box and remove all the ridiculous sounding, yet oddly useful inventions that took him back to happier times.
The next time that Ron asked Harry to go with him to George's, he refused. Harry knew that the Weasleys would never give up on their family, but a part of him wanted to give George a chance to find himself on his own. Perhaps the latter just needed to be alone for a while. He did not say as much to Ron, however, instead, telling him that he had some other appointments to attend.
It was the middle of winter before Harry saw George again. Much to his ashtonishment, it was George who came to visit him at his house.
"I'm reopening the shop," he said, smiling, for what seemed to Harry to be the first time in years. George still looked tired and pale, but his eyes were bright with a sense of purpose, much like the George Harry knew before the war.
"In Diagon Alley," he added, "I wanted to start with a clean slate. "
Harry nodded understandingly, smiling. He was glad for his friend's sake. Spending months cooped up inside his house was doing George no good. This endeavour would at least keep him busy, if nothing else.
"Here." George handed Harry a piece of paper with an address on it. "Visit when you can. There is something I would like you to see."
And so Harry found himself sitting in the not-quite-open shop, across the counter from George. Looking around, he found the shelves laid out with some familiar products and some not so familiar ones. George told him, not without a tinge of pain, that those were what Fred and he had been working on, before...well. Harry laid a comforting arm on his shoulder.
As if brushing the thoughts away, George suddenly stood up. Then he headed to the cupboard behind the counter. When he returned, he had something in his hand.
"I wanted to show you this potion, Harry," George said, handing him the tiny bottle which contained a dark coloured liquid. Harry took it from him, looking confused.
"What is it?" he asked.
George smiled somewhat enigmatically in response.
"It's one of my own creations. Something I have been working on for a while."
Harry looked at the liquid he was holding, turning it around in his hand.
"As for what it does," continued George, "You will find out when you drink it. Think of it as a surprise." He had a mischievous glint in his eyes that both surprised and reassured Harry. His friend was finally back, he knew.
"All right," Harry replied, laughing. He slipped the bottle into his pocket.
It was evening before he had a chance to remember the little gift he had received. He sat on his chair, palming the glass vial and wondering what the purpose of the potion could be. It had a small piece of paper tied to its neck with a string, he noticed. Unfolding it, he found it was blank. He shrugged, wondering if George had meant to write something on it and forgotten. Perhaps he would ask him about it later.
Slumping down further into his comfortable chair, he opened the stopper and took a sip. Immediately, a sharp pain ran through his body, making him stand up. The bottle slipped from his hands and fell to the ground with a crash. The glass shattered, and the liquid spilled out onto the floor.
Harry himself collapsed in agony. Through his daze, he struggled to reach his wand, but his hands failed to obey. He noticed that the now wet piece of paper lying inches from his face had something written on it. The words inked on it swam before his eyes. He squinted to read them through his cracked glasses, hoping they would offer some explanation for what he desperately wished was a prank gone wrong. The words sent a chill down his spine.
"He died because of you."
It was the last thing he saw before his world went black.
Notes; For the Quidditch League Training Camp
Position: Chaser 2 of the Banchory Bangers
Main prompt: Write about George Weasley
Optional Prompts: Winter, back, slate
Also for TGS' Through the Universe Challenge.
Hopefully I fulfilled the main prompt, given that it had to be about George and not necessarily from his POV...