Prologue
A red-haired man sits alone in a dark room. The curtains are drawn, all the windows closed up and the lights off. It's impossible to discern that the room is painted all sorts of bright colors. Orange, purple, gold, yellow, red, electric blue. In the light of day, it would have been a festive room. But in this darkest day, when all is lost, it is a prison. A prison filled with anguish and agony.
The man holds his face in his hands. His copycat face in his copycat hands. The only difference between him and the one he longs for – mourns for – is an ear and a beating heart. George Weasley is missing an ear, and Fred Weasley is missing a pulse. They are both missing each other.
The man is shaking violently with silent sobs. His voice is gone and his tears have run dry. His body is thin and pale underneath the layers of clothes he is wearing.
Two jumpers – one with an F and one with a G.
Two pairs of pants, both the same.
Two pairs of socks and two pairs of boxers.
Two ties.
Two dragonskin cloaks.
Two.
Two.
For one.