Work Text:
July 1999
At first, George hadn’t wanted to reopen the shop. It had been their thing, his and Fred’s, and going back to it without him had felt wrong. If he hadn’t been so wrapped up in his grief, George probably would have sold the building a year ago. But, as fate would have it, he hadn’t.
What had triggered his change of heart, exactly? He wasn’t sure. But, just a few months ago, it had been his birthday. He had turned a year older. Fred had not. Fred would forever be twenty years old, even when George was grey and wrinkled. Fred would forever be remembered as young and full of mischief, as having even laughed in death, whereas George had thought that he would never laugh again.
Until he had.
It was a stupid joke made by his sister over a slice of leftover birthday cake the following morning. It hadn’t even been that funny, but for some reason, George had found himself giggling like a schoolboy. It had been so long since he had laughed that he had almost forgotten how, but the moment he did it, he couldn’t stop. It felt easy, instinctive, like riding a broomstick after being earthbound. It felt good. Laughter was good. Fred had always known that.
“I dunno, Freddie. Seems like a pretty risky move right now. I mean, who wants to buy jokes when You-Know-Who’s on the front page of the Prophet every day?”
“But that’s the brilliance of it! Right now, everyone just wants to not be so afraid. They will buy jokes, because that’s what they need.”
The memory of his brother’s voice echoed in George’s mind as he looked around the shop. It was filled with people, as many as three summers ago, the first time they opened. Fred had been right back then. Evidently, he was still right, even now.
A boy at the front of the queue for the till approached George. He looked maybe old enough to be at Hogwarts, but too young to have been there during the battle.
“I’d like to buy this one, please,” he said, holding out a box in his pudgy hand. George’s lips twitched slightly.
“An excellent choice. You know, I’ve actually been considering buying one of these for myself,” he told the boy, who stared blankly at him as if he were unable to tell whether or not George was joking. George exhaled. “Tough crowd. Okay, that’ll be seven Sickles for the Extendable Ear.”
As George put the boy’s Sickles into the till, he heard the next person in the queue chuckle softly.
“I guess dark humour isn’t for everyone,” she said, in a voice that was familiar to George’s remaining ear. He looked up.
“Angelina?”
It was Angelina Johnson, unmistakably so. She looked older than he remembered — everyone looked older these days — but her smile was unchanged. It widened as they made eye contact, and she placed a single self-writing quill on the counter in front of him.
“Hello, stranger.”
“Hi,” replied George. For lack of anything better to say, he added, “Long time, no see.”
He regretted the words as soon as he’d said them aloud. The last time he had seen Angelina was at Fred’s funeral. She had offered him her condolences. He hadn’t wanted her condolences. He had only wanted his brother back. He had shrugged off her kindness and spent the rest of the day ignoring her.
They’d had no contact since, even though they had spent almost every single day of their teenage years together. George supposed that it was normal for good friends to drift apart like that when they left school and got jobs and fought in wars and grieved for those they had loved and lost.
“I just mean that it’s good to see you,” he corrected himself. “How are things?”
Angelina was still smiling. Her eyes creased slightly at the corners. “Not too bad. How are you doing?”
That was a question George still hadn’t figured out how to answer.
“Yeah, I’m… Yeah.”
As if she understood what George was trying to say, Angelina nodded and made a low humming noise.
“This place looks great,” she said with a wave of her hand. At the exact same time, George said:
“You’re looking great.” He wasn’t sure if he imagined it, but the colour of Angelina’s cheeks seemed to deepen and darken, ever so slightly. He cleared his throat. “You’re looking well, I mean. Are you playing Quidditch again?”
For the first time, Angelina’s smile slipped from her face. She shook her head.
“Can’t. War wounds, you know?”
Of course George knew. How could he not?
“Well, let me know if there’s any products we can supply to help you,” he said. “I’ve got my Extendable Ears, it only seems fair that you get something to use as well.”
“Thanks, but I’ll pass. I still haven’t forgotten the time you gave Katie that Blood Blister Pod during practice.”
George laughed out loud. “That wasn’t me, that was Fred.” He stopped laughing abruptly. “Anyway, that’ll be five Sickles and three Knuts.”
Wordlessly, Angelina handed over her coins, and took back her quill. George sighed, wishing that he hadn’t cut short their conversation.
“It really is good to see you again,” he told her, hoping that she wouldn’t take his brusqueness too personally.
“You too,” she said gently, before giving him the same stern look he recognised from her year of Quidditch captaincy at school. “Let’s not leave it quite so long next time, yeah?”
She turned as if to leave, but didn’t. Instead, she paused and looked around at the swarm of customers that surrounded them.
“I’m so glad you decided to reopen this place,” she murmured. George wasn’t even certain that she was talking to him, but he decided to answer her anyway.
“It’s what Fred would have wanted.”
“Maybe.” Angelina shrugged and looked back at him over her shoulder. Her eyes looked sad, but her smile was genuine. “I was thinking about everyone else.”
George looked out at the crowd. Witches and wizards, young and old, rich and poor, they had all gathered here. No two faces were the same, and yet, each one was laughing. He couldn’t help but smile at the sight, nor Angelina’s words as she spoke once more:
“I think after everything we’ve been through, we all deserve to laugh again.”