Dementors because why not? I don't have a real reason for them being there, just as a plot device to show that George can't cast his Patronus anymore, possibly one of the saddest canons ever. We'll be going back in time in the next few chapters (as they're already written out).

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Diagon Alley was once again the pulse of the wizarding world that I once knew it to be; with Voldemort gone, the world was relaxed and the Alley again bustled with the bright colours and eccentric wizards that I remembered. I had taken the time to admire some of the shops (I made a mental note to stop into Flourish and Blotts after we reopened the shop; I wanted to look for a new Potions book), letting George head to the shop ahead of me. When I reached him, he was just standing there, holding his wand.

"George?"

"I can't do this. I can run this place without him."

"Yes you can. He's rooting for you. We all are."

"I'm not cut out for this."

"You didn't think that two years ago."

"Two years ago I had my twin."

I pulled out my own wand, flicking it upward, causing the boards over the windows to disappear, as if they'd never been there. "Do you know how many excited owls I received when I put the ad in the Prophet that the store was opening again? Come on, Georgie, everyone loves this place."

I headed forward, unlocking the door with a simple Alohomora spell (leave it to the twins to have the lowest level of protection ), and noticed George hadn't followed me. I pulled him by the arm and turning on the lights, the entire shop was just how we had left it before we went underground, albeit a lot more dirty.

I watched George as he walked through the isles, running his fingers over a few of the dusty products, before he finally looked at me with a smile. "Let's do this."

"That's the spirit! Let's give this place a good clean before I suffocate."

For the first maybe two months, the shop ran at almost comical levels, in the best way; it was doing just as well as ever, probably better. That also encompassed George himself, as it was kind of hard to be unhappy in a joke shop. It did look as if he were trying hard to start moving past his brother's death; I was proud of him.

Around Christmas, we hit our peak, being very nearly overwhelmed by sheer number of people, and it helped that George was running a sale on some of the better selling products.

"I can't tell if this was a really bad idea or a really good one," George shouted from the register, where he'd been stationed for the better part of two hours, dealing with young wizards who didn't know there were twenty-nine Knuts in a Sickle, and good-naturedly letting his own pranks be used against him.

"You came up with this!"

"Regretting that now."

Ginny, who we'd temporarily employed for the Christmas holiday, leaned over the railing from the second floor, her hand on a young wizard's shoulder. "George!" he acknowledged her call with a wave of his hand. "Where are the Muggle card tricks?"

George looked as if he'd never been asked that before. "They're far back up there. Try looking by the staircase."

As Ginny led the wizard away, George leaned back from the register, finally getting a break - he looked worn out and badly in need of a holiday, but I haven't seen him so happy in a while. "Fred moved a lot before we had to go into hiding. I don't know where anything is anymore."

"He was never satisfied with the organization of this place. Always said it was too small for all your products," I said, flicking my wand over a bare shelf, instantly restocking it.

"That's right. I never much cared either way. Eight Galleons," he said to a witch when she placed a large, orange Skiving Snackbox in front of him.

"No, you were always more concerned with how well the business was doing."

"I'm the analytical twin," he said, half-joking, then wished the witch a Merry Christmas.

It wasn't his best, but he made the effort, so I chuckled politely.

"Here, give me a break from this. I'll restock."

"And the thrilling jobs at Weasley's Wizard Wheezes continue."

He poked me in the side as we passed each other, shocking me with a buzzer he had hidden in his hand.

"Clever, George. Very clever."

He gave me a wink and pulled out his wand to begin restocking where I left off.

By the time we closed up, the shop brought in enough money to pay rent for the next year or more, and George couldn't stop cracking the ridiculous jokes he loved, much to Ginny and I's dismay (trust me, 'I'm holey' stops being funny after the first time it's told).

"It's cold out here," George said, taking a break from the jokes and tightening his jacket around him.

"It's December Georgie."

"A different cold. Like a dark, depressing cold."

Sure enough, as soon as George mentioned it, I felt exactly what he was talking about: a cold so unlike winter cold, a cold that covered everything in our immediate area in a frost. A cold that chilled from inside out and seemed to suck the happiness out of the area, leaving only the darkest of feelings.

"Dementors."

"A bit like that, yeah."

"No, look!"

Three of the dark, hooded figures that guarded Azkaban were gliding down the Alley toward us, their breath coming out like they were rattling chains, trying to suck the all of the positive emotions and happy memories from us. I quickly patted my leg, where I normally kept my wand in my boot, only to find it wasn't there.

Fabulous.

"You have to take this one, I don't have my wand. Quickly!"

But George was a few steps ahead of me, already aiming his wand at the Dementors that were closer to us than I cared for them to be.

"Expecto Patronum!"

While I fully expected to see the silvery fox that was George's Patronus, all that came from his wand was a small wisp of that silvery air, nothing more. He looked as surprised as I felt.

"George!"

He tried the spell again, with no better results; I was seconds away from grabbing his wand and casting the spell myself when a horse of the same silvery mist galloped down the Alley, driving the Dementors away from us. Ginny stood in the doorway of the shop, directing her Patronus, looking every bit as frightened as the two of us.

"What are Dementors doing in Diagon Alley?" she asked exasperated, handing me my wand.

"Haven't the foggiest. But I don't fancy another encounter with them. Come on." I held my arms out to each Weasley, and making sure they were holding on securely before I Apparated to the specific point at the Burrow. With an almost impossibly perfect sense of timing, a frantic Mrs. Weasley came rushing out to greet her children the moment we appeared.

"You're late!" she shouted, pulling Ginny in tightly for a hug.

"Mum, you're crushing me," Ginny said with forced breaths.

"We ran into some Dementors."

"Dementors? What on earth were they doing there?"

"We were wondering the same thing. Azkaban escapee on the loose?" Ginny joked. Mrs. Weasley wasn't amused.

With no clear sign of amusement, George said, "I thought it was funny."

"What's the matter, dear?"

"Dementors, mum. They're not exactly the most pleasant of creatures."

I knew what was truly bothering him, though; his inability to cast his Patronus when he really needed to. George sat in an almost a mystified state during dinner, hardly touching the food. Of course, Mrs. Weasley was concerned, and when she told him to eat something, he snapped back to attention, more distracted than depressed. Ron and Harry tried to explain why the Dementors had left their post from the prison (they were both Aurors, they knew these kind of things), but neither had a very good reason, which didn't settle Ginny. She kept her wand near her plate at all times, and dove for it at every sound.