A/N: This is the beginning of what will be perhaps an eleven or twelve-chapter fanfic. I've been re-watching HP so much that, well... I hope this makes sense. Please and thank you if you follow!
Prologue
"Mischief managed."
It was a theme for them, almost ordinary. They did it for the fun of it all, never for anything else much really. And even as children, both he and his brother spent half their time causing mayhem and mini-disasters all over their neighbourhood. Of course, those days were long gone, and every year, on his – their – birthday, George would visit his brother's grave early at dawn, when the sun had barely risen, to give proper respects, and of course, to mourn a little bit.
And every year, much like this one, he found a woman, about his age, with long, black locks that flowed in the morning breeze. She wore black coat over her long, white shirt and matched it with thick, black tights and grey boots. She looked, to him, like the way she always did: so utterly in love with his brother.
"Here to greet him again, huh?"
The girl, with no hints of surprise, nodded at him, "It's pretty much the only thing I can do, sometimes."
George sighed, walking up beside her and looking intently at his brother's tombstone, "How long have you been here?" he asked worriedly.
"I wouldn't know," she replied with a small shrug, wiping away stray tears that were falling from her eyes, "It was dark when I got here, and you know how I am sometimes when it comes to Fred."
"How could I forget?" George managed a chuckle, "We've known each other for so long, Amira."
"That we have," agreed Amira. All of a sudden, she looked up at George, musing to herself, "Must be difficult for you to look at the mirror sometimes?"
"This blasted ear is the only thing that reminds me that all I see is m'self," explained George, taking Amira into his arms, "But you know, you could have had more love on you, if you wanted to. Fred wouldn't have wanted you to be lonely all your life."
"I'm not lonely." She said, laughing a little, "I barely knew what he would want," Amira started, leaning into George's lithe chest, "But I know that I probably never would be able to love anybody else. It's just him… It'll always be him."
With another breathy sigh, George tenderly kissed the top of Amira's head, "Sorry… It's about the only thing I can do for you right now, 'Mira."
"It's all right," and Amira pulled away, and stood up to give George a small peck on the cheek.
"Happy Birthday, George."