Title: Prosopon
Pairings/Characters: George Weasley
Forum/Challenge: The Golden Snitch 'Light it Up Like the Fourth' Challenge (Mahoutokoro, House Mizu)
Prompt: (task) firework - write about the Weasley twins' business
Word Count: 372


"George, I'm heading out!" Verity called from the front of the store. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"See you then," he returned brightly.

He let his face fall the second the door slammed shut.

Merlin, smiling this much took effort. At least, it did now.

He thought back to the days of pick-up Quidditch at the Burrow, brewing experimental potions in the dorm, taking the mickey on Ron and Percy. Smiles and laughter, for themselves and for others, had come so easy then.

But that was before.

Now, George woke everyday and had a split second where Fred was still alive, where everything was alright in the world. And after that moment, the realization that he was alone, that his other half—his better half—was gone from the world would settle on him like a suffocating fog.

He kept the shop as an homage to his brother, but manning it became harder and harder every day. His smiles were fake, his laughter forced, and his inspiration all but gone. He'd given the research arm of their business to Lee almost a year ago, consulting occasionally for appearances, and Verity was practically the face of the store to customers.

George typically hid in the office, pretending to fill out paperwork.

Things would be different if Fred were here.

George trudged up to the flat he and his twin had shared. It held too many memories, but the alternative was the Burrow and that would be worse. If being in the flat was hard, visiting the Burrow as an exercise in masochism. Every room part of George's childhood home screamed of his lost brother, and it physically hurt to be there.

It made his chest tight and empty, all at the same time.

So he stayed at the flat, and he kept the shop open, and he went through the motions of being OK.

But at night, when the shop was closed up and George was alone in the apartment, he'd let his mask fall. He'd pour a glass of firewhisky or, if it had been a particularly bad day, simply drink straight from the bottle.

And, to any empty room, he would toast to his brother. "Give 'em hell up there, Fred."