🍂George Weasley

May 2, 1998—the day two Weasleys died, only one still breathing. George was left alone, without the one who had been by his side his entire life, the one who was a part of him. And you lost your best friend, the one you'd shared everything with for years. Both were experiencing grief, literally heartbreaking. George became uneasy, didn't eat, didn't drink, didn't look in the mirror, and abandoned, as everyone hoped, work on the shop for a while, saying that everything there reminded him of his brother. And for a while, Ron took care of that. George hid all the colorful suits he and Fred had made deep inside, and categorically refused to go into his room at the Burrow, which increasingly seemed alien to him.

This time, arriving at your shared apartment, you saw broken glass on the floor. It was a miracle you didn't step on it. A heavy sigh escaped your chest. You jumped over the shards and walked deeper into the apartment, calling for George. It was simply impossible to blame him for this situation . Words cannot describe the tense atmosphere in the house. Only the quiet rustling sound came from the bathroom. Peeking in, you saw George silently mixing black paint in a bowl. The mirror in front of him was covered with a towel. At least it wasn't broken.

"Hey... " you whispered, so as not to scare him. George turned to you and forced a smile. Just for the sake of decency. And went back to stirring the paint with some old pencil. He took whatever was at hand.

• I didn't hear you come in.