The sun was shining splendidly. Its rays of light filtered through the uneven glass and illuminated the slow whirling of dust in the stuffy room. It was a beautiful summer day.

But to George, it might as well have rained.

He sat by the window, chin resting on his fist, staring out with an absent gaze. He didn’t know how long he had been sitting there. Had it been a week since Fred passed away? A month?

Nothing made any sense to him now. They had always done everything together; he guessed that somewhere, deep down, he had always thought they would die together, too.

“This is it,” Fred had said in the Room of Requirement. His face had been ashen, yet his jaw set and gaze determined. “What it all comes down to.”

George had nodded slowly. Around them there had been many of their fellow friends and students, not all of whom still attended Hogwarts, but had returned to defend their school and everyone in it. Fred had squared his shoulders, straightened up and raised his chin. His posture had exuded courage and a resolute strength, spreading throughout the room like a collective power. It had been the moment they had been waiting for.

The moment to fight for everything worth living for.

In hindsight, George wondered how he could ever have had such a naïve belief.

“George! Behind you!”

He had dodged the curse as his twin came running towards him. The burst of green light had streaked past, blasting a Hogwarts statue to pieces. The cackle of the deranged Death Eater had echoed in the explosion. Rubble and dust had rapidly filled the corridor as the two brothers hastily positioned themselves back to back, hexing and cursing furiously in all directions.

It had all happened so quickly, although when George replayed their last seconds of fighting together in his mind, everything went in slow-motion. Since then, everything stood still.

Everyone else had hurried to occupy themselves with something after the battle. His mother had of course taken it upon herself to look after everything and everyone. The first few days, she had mollified herself over George more than ever, forcing him to eat, forcing him to come out of his room and be with the family. But to him, they weren’t family. They were spectators, watching him worriedly, waiting for what he would do next.

Eventually, she had given up. She had tended to his siblings, his father and others scarred with loss. George was left alone in his room, their room.

He opened his mouth to yawn, and found that his tongue had stuck to his cavity and his lips were chapped and parched. He wondered how long it had been since he ate.

George quietly made his way down to the kitchen, hoping that he could fetch something to eat undisturbed. He silently passed the closed doors of his siblings on the many landings, and he heard the faint mumbles and sniffles leaking from his parents’ bedroom. The floorboards creaked only slightly, as if even the house itself were muted and subdued.

George left the last step of the stairs to find the kitchen deserted. Chairs were pulled out as if left in a hurry, yet the kitchen table was scrubbed perfectly by his mother’s fervent hand. All George could find in the cabinets was a lonely piece of dry, crumbly bread. Nonetheless he nibbled at it, allowing himself to lean against the kitchen sink. He found a nearly clean glass and filled it with water, downed it, then drank two glasses more.

Once he had eaten the bread, he realised that he was hungrier still. He began rummaging about in the kitchen, watchful of making too much noise but growing more frustrated by the second. He couldn’t find anything edible in the cupboards or on the counters; it was as if everything was scraped bare. Then, as suddenly as he had started, he gave up, letting his arms fall limply to his sides. Unsettled, he abandoned the empty kitchen and headed for the back door.

He was instantly blinded by the stark sunlight the moment he stepped outside. He shielded his eyes with his hand while weaving through the high grass in direction of the garden patch. Dry grass crunched beneath the bare soles of his feet and weed tickled his toes.

He stopped once he had reached the wide, rectangular area that was the unkempt yet fruitful garden patch. He peered along the rows, searching the bush with his gaze. Then he bent down, scooped up a fistful of green and yanked it upward.

A garden gnome scurried away as George straightened up, holding his fresh carrot. He absent-mindedly began brushing the vegetable free from dirt with the end of his sleeve, watching the gnome scampering across the yard.

George smiled as he thought of the countless summer days he and Fred had spent chasing, teasing and chucking about garden gnomes.

“And… one!” Fred had yelled, heaving a gnome into the bushes. “And…two! Three! Four!”

The teenage twins had continued, snorting with laughter as little Ron had run about, hands over his head and screaming for his mum. “Hey!” Fred had interjected, and George had spun around to see a gnome that had placed himself snugly on Fred’s shoulders. It had hung on tightly while Fred struggled to throw it off, and had proceeded to tug at his flaming red hair with angry little fists.

George nearly chuckled to himself at the memory.

He was awoken from his thoughts by a faint sound from the house. He looked down at his carrot, picking away the last speck of dirt and parting his dry lips to gnaw at it.

He was surprised that a carrot could taste so much. It crunched with freshness and he savoured its rich flavour on his tongue.

George looked up at the sun, squinting. It shone brightly, warm on the freckles of his face. A slight breeze rustled in the grass, ruffled his hair and gave him goose pimples. He took a deep, calm breath.

He could feel again.

Slowly, he started back towards the house. He finished his carrot just two steps from the door, and he turned and threw away the green tops as far as he could.

“I swear you were using magic that time!” a young George had called out to his twin. “You could never throw that far. You know we’re not allowed to use magic yet, Mum says we can’t until we’re seventeen!”

Fred had looked back with a boyish grin spread across his face. “I didn’t use magic,” he said innocently. “But I have nicked Charlie’s wand… Wanna see if we can do a spell on ickle Ronnie’s diapers so they’re on his head, instead?”

George had looked at his brother apprehensively, but slowly a mischievous smile had cracked his façade.

Lowering his arm, George turned and stepped back into the house.

Feeling more aware and alert than he had felt in weeks, he strode through the kitchen and headed back up the stairs. When he was on the top flight, he was surprised to hear soft noises from inside his room.

When he walked through the door, he saw that someone else was occupying his usual place by the window. Her hands were resting in her lap and her long, braided hair pulled back from her dark face. She, too, was staring out the window with a vacant expression, tears leaking from her eyes, now and then giving a small sniffle.

“Angelina?” George croaked, surprised he even had a voice after being silent for so long.

She turned to face him with a jolt and her mouth fell open. “I-I… I just…”

George swiftly took the two steps that spaced them and hushed her. “It’s okay,” he said quietly, seating himself next to her. They sat still for a while, both gazing silently out the window.

“I just needed to feel near him,” said Angelina, breaking the silence. She faced George, her eyes wide but the tears drying on her cheeks. “How are you?”

George stared back into her eyes, unable to answer the question, at loss for words. He just placed his hand softly on her shoulder, and eventually they both went back to just staring out the window.

George did not know for how long they sat this way. He began to feel his hand sweat on Angelina’s shoulder, and gently removed it. Instead, he went on to point out the window, past the garden patch. “That’s where we used to play Quidditch. We’d practise in the summers, and make Ron Keep.” He gave a small smile.

“Why can’t I play? Fred, please?” Ginny had whined.

With a sad smile her brother had responded, “Because, little sis’, you’re too small.” Then Fred had winked. “Ron, however, we can Bludger away at without feeling any guilt.”

Ginny had pouted, trying to be angry, but had given the twins half an amused grin. With a laugh, Fred had stroked her long, red mane before kicking away from the ground to join their youngest brother in the air.

Angelina slowly lifted her arm and held up her hand. “He gave me this for the Yule Ball. I’ve worn it ever since,” she said, showing the silver chain on her wrist.

George looked at the bracelet as it glimmered and sparkled, reflecting the sunlight. It complemented perfectly her ebony dark skin.

Fred had dangled the glittering piece of jewellery before his twin in their shared dormitory. Both had been dressed their finest, having used some of the money already rolling in from their business to buy new dress robes.

“It’s pretty,” George had told him. “I’m sure she’ll like it.”

“Yeah…” Fred had mumbled, as if mesmerized by the silver bracelet swaying back and forth. “I just feel that I want to make her happy. You know?” Fred had looked at his brother, and George had nodded solemnly.

George raised his arm again, now placing it around Angelina’s shoulders. He pulled her close, and she leaned against him. In silence, they continued to gaze out the window, at the splendid summer day.