Small Steps Towards Recovery
George woke up at six. He wasn’t planning to be awake so early, but going back to sleep seemed like an impossible challenge, so instead, he went out to the kitchen to pour himself some coffee. After their car incident, they went home and the next day, Tom taught them the functions of some basic shops. But since Percy already knew (always perfect in everything, even in muggle studies. George wasn’t surprised), they spent most time playing video games or looking through the internet. That way yesterday.
Today was a bright, sunny Friday. It didn’t match the Weasley’s current mood, so he shut all the binds and had breakfast in total darkness. A thought was bothering him for days now, and George wasn’t sure if he wanted to act on it or not. The joke shop. It was everything the two had, it was everything they called home. He was terrified of going back. Not because he was afraid of not being successful, no. The memories, the flashbacks, all the sweet pictures which tied him to that building. As much as George loved them, he had no intention in reliving them, afraid that he would reach his breaking point. But what would Fred say to his weakness? To his vulnerability? Fred wouldn’t accept it. He’d want the joke shop to be opened again. So George decided to go back, for the sake of his twin brother. And for the sake of all those people who liked the place.
After two small sandwiches and downing coffee enough for three men, George found himself getting excited. And after taking a quick shower, dressing up and trying to look decent, he was ready. The sudden change of mood and opinion was abrupt, but the Weasley wasn’t willing to think about it, because he didn’t want to ruin the rush of adrenaline. This was the only thing pushing him towards his goal.
Before he left, he knocked on his brother’s door. He didn’t get an answer, so he tried once again; still nothing. George peeked inside and saw him asleep, his wheelchair too far from the bed for the younger Weasley’s liking. So he sneaked in, pushed it next to the bed, and exited. Obviously, he put a note onto the kitchen counter in case Percy would search for him, but he had a feeling that the ex-prefect won’t be awake until noon. His brother had a bad habit of staying up late, dare call it insomnia. George did try to force him to a doctor, but Percy refused and they had a bad fight. Since then, the younger Weasley was afraid to ask, because he didn’t want another conflict.
And when the door closed behind him, his determination left him, but the adrenaline was still present, pushing him forward.
* * *
Weasleys Wizard Wheezes, the place of fun and games. However, George saw it differently. He used to be happy to be there, feeling the warmth of home and family, but now it was cold. Cold and empty and abyss of what used to be called a “safe place”. George walked through the halls reluctantly, in a melodramatic mood. He looked at the now clean shelves, floor and walls and realized that Percy helped because he also wanted him to reopen the place. He himself did this because he wanted to do this again. Not everything was “only for Fred”, no. Because so many people besides him wanted to see the joke shop open.
So he put his mood aside and decided to look through the products that survived the abandonment. There wasn’t a lot, but it was enough for a start. George wondered around, trying to find something to do. He had never felt so lost in his own shop before. Everything was spinning and he was panicked and… Oh merlin…
“
‘So then I blew this in his face and told him to get the fuck away!’ Fred made a blowing noise and the people around him laugh, George included, ‘Isn’t that right Feorge?’ the twin nodded.
‘Yea and then he turned around and left with a bloody nose!’
‘Well deserved!’ shouted Lee, punching the air with his fist.
‘Agreed,’ said Angelica, smirking.
‘Right? That asshole deserved it!’ grinned Fred, clapping his hands together.”
That happened four months ago, when Fred met with a death-eater. He almost died, yet still managed to joke it off. George wondered… If he had survived the war, would he joke about that too? But why did he even consider the possibility? Fred didn’t survive. He didn’t survive because he was crushed by a wall. There was no way he could’ve survived that, right? George wasn’t sure. But what he knew was that his brother wasn’t alive, because he had seen him. He saw him pale and lifeless and covered in so much blood and… George couldn’t breathe.
‘FOR FUCK’S SAKE!’ he punched the wall. Why wasn’t there anyone by his side? Oh, wait! Because his twin was dead, and his older brother was disabled! The pain was agonizing, but who could George complain to? He may have lost an ear, but he can still hear! Percy lost his ability to walk but he doesn’t complain, so why would he? Still, there was ringing and so much noise, it’s been a while since he heard so many things at once. There were screams and explosions and cries of pain. Was the latter one coming out of him?
He tried to breathe, he really did, but nothing worked and all he could do was lay there and wait for the sorrow to end. But it never did.
It never stopped, but lessened enough so George could continue on. It was always like this. He’d break down and life would torture him for a while, then it would decide that it was enough and lift a bit off his shoulders. But it never took all the pain away, no. Because the thoughts were always there at the back of his head, saying terrifying things. Yet George wasn’t scared, since people like him learned to accept and live with them, but at what costs?
George searched for something he could use as a sign, then sat down to write on it. He was trying to finish as soon as possible, only writing down necessary things. When he was done, he hung it onto the building’s entrance and left. For the first time that day, he felt relief and satisfaction.
LOOKING FOR EMPLOYEES!
IF YOU’RE INTERESTED, OWL ME!
MY ADDRESS: ____________
– GEORGE