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Ever since he lost the other half of his soul, George Weasley hadn't looked forward to this day. Not since then, at the very least. Not when it was a stark reminder of memories, memories once filled with stupid jabs, 'harmless' jokes and legendary pranks they'd saved just for their birthdays, and their poor mum... But now? Those memories remained as nothing but a painful ache in his chest, thoughts turned hollow and devoid of any former nectar and sweetness. Memories were fleeting - George realized - and they'd already began to blur at the edges, losing their race against time.
Their - his - birthday, was a day where kids jeered, laughed and pulled pranks on each other. A day where a pair of twins were born, destined to embody the spirit of mischief and tomfoolery. A day that was now filled with a quiet ache and yearning for the laughter of a brother that would never come or be heard ever again. George was afraid of losing after all, losing his brother's voice, his brilliance, his ideas, and the smile on his face which despite looking identical - couldn't be matched without Fred to complete it. It's as if Fred had taken George's smile with him to the grave. And honestly? Sometimes George thinks he should really join him, too.
George knew the thought currently clamping down on his brain was foolish. Weasley Wizard Wheezes still stood strong, a testament to their countless hours of hard work coming up with clever ideas, figuring out finances and promoting themselves all over the wizarding world. It was nothing short of utter brilliance and it wouldn't stand tall the way it did without their shared effort, yet now the weight of it all was carried by only one pair of shoulders and a few hands that reached out for help, even if George was hesitant to ever take them.
Cold water splashed in his face as a poor attempt of calming the barbed wire in his gut, it did nothing, apparently. A fatigued hand dragged down his features before he pointedly avoided a confrontation with the mirror above his vanity. They'd promised each other to look after the rest of the family, Perce, little Ginny, mum and dad, Ron too, and well... Bill and Charlie could look well after themselves. So there he was, adjusting his loosened tie, fixing the crumpled fabric and hem of his uniform - Which was a stark contrast to how he felt. A tired flick of his wand dragged the curtains aside at a snail's pace, the enchanted lights flickering to life with a stutter whilst a layer of dust got whisked away due to courtesy of a duster flying by all the product's shelves.
George found a little humour in the fact that he wanted nothing more to do with the shop and selling joke products on the day of April fools. Both Lee and Arietta had promised to show up today, their excuse of wanting to help manage the shop had fallen short to his ear. He knew the pair wanted nothing more than to keep an eye on him - as if he was fragile and frail. George jolted back at the ink spilling over his hand - had his grip been that tight? Bloody hell. He flicked his wand with a mutter, and the ink staining the letter on his desk faded into nothing. And then a handkerchief made quick work of the ink staining his hands. He noted that he was growing careless. His attention and mind slipping away more than he'd have liked in the days leading up to today. It only felt so long ago…
~
"Fred-?.. FRED!" A shrill scream bellowed distinctly over the screech of spells whizzing past his ear, the crumbling of stone, the cries of death eaters and students surrounding him as another spell shot out from the tip of his wand.
George wasn't focused on his target - a death eater with a sneer uglier than a troll - not any longer at least. He came to recognize the loud buzz in his ears as his brother, Percy. Percy..? a blood-stained hand rubbed furiously at the dust in his eyes, squeezing them shut before blinking, desperate to clear the haze of exhaustion gnawing at him. Percy's voice had turned into a shrill cry, no longer able to stomach the sound of Fred's name on his tongue, it tasted like tar.
George didn't know what was happening, why the ache in his heart had suddenly replaced the aching in his bones. His body, however, seemed to know something his mind didn't, and before he could register what he was doing, his feet carried him over to his older brother. The flash of a hand George didn't really recognize as his own forcefully shoved Percy aside, his knees buckling under an invisible weight like stone. George could see Percy - could register the horror-struck expression on Percy's face, mouth open and dry around words that wouldn't form from his peripheral vision, that was beginning to quickly blur at the edges - swamping his line of view.
His cheeks were burning hot. The air was filled with the distinct scent of blood, a metallic tang that burned in his lungs to the point of nausea. A hand found its way onto his hunched back, but George didn't seem to register the trembling digits buried in the fabric of his shirt. It dawned on him then through the haze of tears that he was staring down at a figure, a figure who's eyes had once twinkled like his own - a spark that passed between them like a secret only they knew about and kept in their hearts.
"Fred..?" A voice croaked out, coming from his throat, but the sound was strange and chillingly foreign to his own ear. It was haunting, seeing himself laying there lifeless, rigid and cold. Fred was cold.
His body moved over the limp figure of his brother, hoisting him up with care he never really reserved for their roughhousing. This was wrong..This was all wrong. He was just catching up with Percy a moment ago. They both had reluctantly started tolerating their overly strict brother again, and had slowly taken the steps to forgive him because even if he was and always would be a bit of a pompous git, he was still their brother - a brother who they loved so dearly and deeply. George didn't register footsteps approaching - didn't register tears that were rolling wet and hot down his cheeks. The wailing felt distant, too. But he knew from the way his lungs were seizing around any semblance of air, that it was coming from him.
Puffy brown eyes stared into one's glazed over and then darted to the slight ghost of a smile resting on Fred's face, an imprint of his soul left behind on the body that housed his second half - or used to, at least. His thoughts were interrupted by a sudden weight crashing into his side, arms clamping down on his and Fred's. He couldn't look up but George noted the slight waft of perfume, fading and now muddling with the scent of Fred's drying blood -burning his nose further. Arietta - it suddenly dawned upon him. Arietta was blubbering and wailing into his shoulder, staining his shirt with snot and tears as her grip tightened impossibly, fingers curling into his shirt like a lifeline.
"George.. G-George.. he can't-" the distraught girl beside him barely managed, words tumbling out hoarse and weak. "What ha-" Arietta croaked in a vain attempt to speak but it seemed the possible cause of her best friend's death was too much for her to stomach, her mouth unable to open, leaving her lips weakly trembling around quiet, broken whimpers.
Fred was supposed to bark something at her, open his eyes and tease her for being so worried over him getting merely injured by some stone. But he didn't. He remained half strewn over George's lap, staining his denim pants a sickly red. It was going to be a pain to get that out - he thought before it quickly faded into his mind. It left a strange sort of emptiness whilst his body took over the work of grieving, while his mind trudged sluggishly behind.
~
"George..GEORGE!"
A gasp slipped past his lips as he found himself tucked between colorful displays, products littered about just where he'd left them last night. The rubble of Hogwarts and the bone chilling screams from his mother and family bleeding out of his memories into a dull thrum. Perhaps it was a cruel joke that this was one of the many memories that refused to budge - stuck like gum while the ones he tried to grasp onto slipped between his fingers. "George..?" A voice startled him - unsure and concerned - managed to pull him further into reality. A blink - and another before his vision registered the outline of a blurred figure in front of him.
The brief flash of orange hair made his heart squeeze uncomfortably, a reminder flashing through his mind before he realized that it was Arietta - currently stood in front of him, brows furrowed in silent question. Her eyes trying to solve the puzzle piece that seemed to be his face. A tentative hand reached for his own - grasping down onto the wooden desk with enough force to have made his knuckles go white. Her fingers gently pried them loose and weave in-between his, his grip loosening ever so slightly at her touch - touch that was frighteningly similar to magic - as if physical contact with her undid him right then and there, unraveling his mind all the same. It took only a gentle squeeze, a silent question before he collapsed and his knees buckled, this time landing on soft, purple carpet.
Thank merlin she'd gotten some for around the place when he was on his break. Arietta was by his side in an instant, carefully crouching down in front of him as if she was afraid he'd startle again. George didn't notice the tears that'd started rolling down his cheeks before her thumb carefully wiped them away. The look of confusion woven between her brows had vanished, making way for worry - perhaps even pity - his stomach churned. Merlin he didn't want her to pity him. He was fine, he was alright - He'd survived. The words sounded awfully hollow even to himself, but George ignored the ache. Instead he focused on the way his head was now laying on something soft - Had she laid him down on the carpet?
His mouth opened to protest - to tell her he was alright and was merely exhausted but the sound of a soft heartbeat thumping quietly against his good ear interrupted his train of thoughts. As if instinct took over, his arms found the small curve of her waist and wrapped themselves around her, holding her down like an anchor whilst a sea of turmoil threatened to spill from his lips. She didn't seem to mind the pathetic whimpers that had bubbled from his throat, the shaky wobble of his lips and the trembling in his limbs as her hand raked carefully through the tangles of his hair, combing them out.
Brown eyes - heavy, exhausted and red - fluttered shut. The soothing strokes brought him back to simpler times, times where he was little and curled up on Molly's lap beside Fred. Both her hands occupied with soothing her sons. A small hum escaped - almost reminiscent of a laugh. They both used to be absolutely terrified of storms, Fred of thunder and George of lightning. Of course they'd gotten over it fast - perhaps embarrassed to continue seeking out their mother's comfort once they'd grown past a certain age. Oh how he'd wish to huddle up with Fred again, nothing to worry about as mum gently shushed them in front of the fire.
He missed home.
The letter dad had sent him still sat forgotten on his desk - an invitation - he knew. Probably to invite him back to the burrow to celebrate his birthday like they all had used to but he couldn't stomach it. What would it be like without Fred? His stomach churned uncomfortably at the thought - at the possibility of his birthdays at home being tainted if he attempted to celebrate. His fingers curled into the soft fabric of Arietta's jumper - maybe another year. He'd apologize sometime later when he could pretend he was on top of the world again - when they'd struggle seeing through his facade of happiness again. As if Arietta could read his thoughts - she carefully straightened him, fixing his lousy attempt of a tie for him, her hands unsure where to reach for now that he seemed as fragile as porcelain in them.
George would let her hands wander wherever they so desired. Her proximity seemed to melt every haunting memory into just a puddle - and he'd put down his cloak for her over them any time. Minutes that felt like hours passed by without another word. Her blue eyes met his and it only dawned on him then that she'd cried, too. Her cheeks stained with trails of tears that had silently fallen down whilst he'd cried into her arms. It took everything within him to swallow down the guilt in his chest - he knew it wasn't about him, that Fred's death affected more than just himself - he wasn't that two-dimensional.
"'m Sorry, Ari," he murmured with a sharp inhale - her perfume a brief reminder to metal before he buried his nose in the scent, as if to drown out everything from that night.
Instead of a response, she buried her face into the crown of his head. George felt the slow exhale of her breath ghosting over his mussed hair. Silence stretched between the pair crouched down in the back of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. The early April sun enfolding the shelves with warmth, wind gently knocking like an invitation on the glass panes as the faint hum of footsteps and people on the pavement filled the otherwise quiet atmosphere.
"George." His name left her mouth again, the rumble of her voice in her chest comforting. He could listen to her murmur his name over and over again if he wasn't feeling so bleak. George responded with a soft 'hm', the muscles in his jaw too tired to form a proper reply.
"The store's about to open soon," Arietta continued quietly as if scared to break the emotions hanging between them. "Lee is on his way right now, should be here in a few. I'm not running this madhouse by myself," Arietta moved back carefully, a hand sliding to rest on his shoulder before she squeezed it.
Reluctantly George nodded, pushing up onto his numb legs and stabilizing himself on the desk, his eyes flickering over to the invitation before exhaling sharply through his nose. Right. Work. Arietta soon followed, dusting off the very same harsh magenta uniform that he wore. The corner of his lips twisted with the ghost of something akin to a smile. He didn't know if Arietta caught it, if so, she didn't show any signs that she had. Instead, she quickly brushed through his hair before taking a step back as if admiring her work.
"Liking what you're seeing, or is your vision still blurry?" The tease shot out - reaching for some kind of normalcy. Arietta caught it and raised her shoulder in a nonchalant shrug, lips pursed before her teeth bit down onto the pink flesh.
George's chest felt a little lighter, a smile now carefully resting on his face. "Let's get to work, then. Before Lee arrives and talks my remaining ear off." He trudged off slowly, fixing a stack of skiving snack-boxes - guaranteed bestsellers for the day.
"Actually," Arietta piped up, grabbing his sleeve and forcing him to turn around. He blinked down at her - brow raised in silent question, before he could reply, she cut in with "There's something you should probably check in the back. I fear the Pygmy's might've gotten themselves into some trouble back there." She smiled innocently, darting off to the front of the store - George missed the quick glance she shot towards him over her shoulder.
A hand dragged down his face followed by a groan. How dare she leave him to take care of one of the most annoying tasks? Begrudgingly, he strode to the back of the store. The dust hadn't quite settled here yet and George sneezed indignantly as he pushed open the door to the back, expecting to see a mess of poffles, pink and purple fur scattered absolutely everywhere - instead he was met with two boxes wrapped in glittery ribbons. George felt his heart squeeze in his chest at the sight. His head swiveling over his shoulder to see if she was watching. When he saw nothing he approached the table.
He carefully tugged on the fabric as if afraid of damaging the ribbon, and watched the wrapping unravel itself. Curiously he opened the box - only to find yet another - and another. George looked on stunned for a moment before he chortled quietly, his eyes fond with mirth. For the first time that day, the memory of Fred's death didn't seem to gnaw on his conscious - at least not for the foreseeable future. After about 5 boxes something finally seemed to glint in the dim lighting of the back room.
Carefully he extracted a bunch of quills, one stood out to him - adorned by the feather of a magpie. Further in the box was a rolled up piece of parchment that he quickly unraveled. His breath caught as his eyes scanned the lettering - an age old prototype of their self-writing quills with a hasty note written on the bottom.
'Figured we needed more stock for April Fools so I took it upon myself to charm these to sing whatever you write down, though - the Magpie one is yours. Happy birthday, George.
- Your dearest, Arietta'
George quickly snatched up an empty piece of parchment from one of the back shelves, the magpie quill resting in his left hand as he dipped it into an inkwell and began to write down. He watched with his mouth agape as the quill started to move onto the parchment as if it had a mind of it's own. George eyes followed the curling letters that made it's way onto the parchment before it dawned on him that what was being written down was a bunch of fond memories he'd shared. To quidditch matches on the Hogwarts pitch and meeting Lee to his most ingenious moments with Fred.
A soft laugh left his throat, a single teardrop staining the parchment below before he wiped his eyes with the back of his hand as something oddly warm spread throughout his chest. Arietta had spent merlin-knows-how-long on a particularly hard charm just for his birthday. He had to bite back more tears as he gently tucked the quill into his pocket before picking up the box of 'normal' quills and bringing them out front. Arietta's back greeted him - the redhead turned away, busy fussing with the Wonderwitch products by the way a strand of her hair disappeared into her mouth.
With a huff he put down the box, dusting off his hands before crossing the room in a few strides. Arms once again finding the waist of the witch in front of him who just acknowledged him with a hum and knowing smile. This time it was his turn to nuzzle his nose in the crown of her head, eyes fluttering shut briefly as he murmured into her hair.
"You didn't have to, love." He was met with an indignant scoff and a gentle elbow to his stomach.
"'Course I had to, George. It's your birthday and I-.." Arietta broke off, shoulders deflating. "After everything, you deserve to hold onto the good memories, especially today. Hence why Lee and I agreed upon doing most of the work today." Arietta turned around and their eyes finally met. "And I know you're not one to take it easy but, try it for a change, I promise we can handle the crowd when I've dealt with the chaos you and the rest brought along for more than 8 years." Her tone left no room for argument and reluctantly, George decided to drop it.
"Right." He hummed, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. "Thanks love, I'll try my honest best at taking your words to heart but y'know how it goes - in one ear and out the other hole." George grinned into the kiss, pulling back as the chime of the bell rang through the shop.
"Not plotting my downfall, are you?" chimed the voice of a man who was pushing the door open with his hips, hands occupied by a small box. "It'd be a pity 'cause I've got arguably the best gift a man could ever bloody dream of right here in my hands." Lee trotted over to them with a smile as bright as the sun shining outside and George couldn't help but be affected by his energy. He let go of Arietta - arms wrapping around the shorter man now in front of him who squeaked in response and sputtered something about being careful with the gift. George didn't really care.
After a solid minute or two the redhead finally pulled back, again met with a flash of magenta that for once didn't seem to clash - perhaps Lee was destined to look good in all kinds of bright colors. Before the thought could linger, the shorter man stretched out the small gift in his hands towards him, urging him with a look to hurry up and open it.
"It better not be a new broom, Jordan. I'd honestly cry." George quipped lightly before tearing off the wrapping paper - the box underneath giving his heart a little stutter reminiscent of Arietta's gift. Luckily this time around he was met with no jokes - rare from Jordan and instead he was met with two glistening tickets, big bold 'V.I.P' lettering underneath tickets to a match from the Irish National Quidditch team. George opened his mouth to thank him, tears already welling up in the corners of his eyes but Lee was faster.
"I reckon it's been a while since you've properly went out and actually enjoyed something, mate. And luckily for you your best boyfriend has secured exclusive tickets to the one and only Irishmen. Perks of hosting a radio show, aye." Lee pulled him into another embrace and carefully kissed his cheek, "Happy birthday, George. Let me and Cosette handle most of it today," his voice, gentle and soft, whispered into his ear before he stepped back and clasped his hands together, Arietta already on her way to flip the 'closed' sign to open. Right. Back to work we go.
The rest of the day felt a little bit lighter and perhaps, his birthday wasn't the worst after all. The smile in the mirror matched the one he missed the most and in someway, somehow, his brother was never truly gone. Not when the people he held closest were there to remind him how loved he truly was every day.