Harry Potter One Shots

The Face in the Mirror

All rights belong to the author, Labrynth

The firewhiskey burned all the way down. His mouth, his throat and into his belly. Letting the glass clatter to the table, drops of liquid spatter across the wood surface, he dropped his head into his hands. More than anything he wanted to rail at the world, to blame everyone else for his loss. But the honest truth was that he just didn't care enough for it. Blaming someone just took too much effort.

Tears leaked down his face and he didn't bother wiping them away. They simply added to the misery he had felt for so many years. Half of him had been taken away and the other half had shriveled up in response. He couldn't even call himself a shadow of his former self any longer because it wasn't true. Even a shadow had more substance than he did. Choking back a sob he up-ended the glass and poured himself another round. One shot of liquid flames followed quickly by another.

"Fred," he toasted to no one in particular before he gulped it down.

A squeak from the door hinge let him know someone was there but he didn't bother to look up. It wasn't his brother, his lost twin. It wasn't Fred so it didn't matter.

"Bloody hell," a voice muttered just before the empty glass was swept out of his hand. The nearly empty bottle also disappeared. Bleary eyed he looked up, his eyes swimming into focus.

Hands on his hips with a look of disgusted exasperation on his face his brother glared at him. "When is the last time you left this room?" Ron demanded hotly. "I could smell you as I was walking up the stairs. Lee and Verity say they haven't seen you for more than a week."

"Go away," George mumbled, his words slurring badly. "'S my shop. I'll do whatever I want with it."

"Like hell you will," Ron spat furiously. "This was Fred's dream too you know. He'd roll over in his grave if he saw all of this. No new product for more than a year. Shoddy spells on everything you actually manage to do. If it weren't for Lee and Verity this place wouldn't have made it the last three years. Pull yourself together already!"

Fire burned in his belly and he pushed away from the table. "What do you know?" he snarled at his youngest brother. "You are off with Hermione. Off with Harry. You stop by every few weeks to tsk and tell me how to run things." His voice escalated in pain and anger. He swayed unsteadily on his feet. "But what do you know? You still have everyone. I lost my brother. I lost my twin." Tears fell freely and his voice dropped to a miserable whimper. "I lost Fred."

"I'm here damn near every day. I put off my Auror training. Hermione and I have put off our wedding." Ron's ears were turning a brilliant shade of red, which was never a good sign. "Who do you think orders supplies? Who do you think does the things you should be doing? I lost him too. We all did." Ron ground out through clenched teeth. "I saw him die remember? I saw him crushed, buried by the explosion. I LOST HIM TOO!"

Ron's show of anger manage to trickle into his alcohol addled brain. Shame welled up inside of him, blossoming in his cheeks. Fred would be ashamed of him. But Fred wasn't here. Fred was dead and gone. Worm food.

"Go shower," Ron said gently. "Everyone will be here soon." With a soft sigh, pity colored his voice. "Maybe they won't drag out this birthday like they did last year. I'll do what I can." He turned towards the door. Pausing, one hand on the door frame, he glanced over his shoulder at his brother. At the one person in his family who had lost more than any of them. "We all miss him you know," he whispered then let the door close behind him.

George stood, staring at the floor. The grain of the dark wood seemed to move, making him dizzy. His feet seemed glued there and a glimmer of thought in the back of his mind thought it would make a great gag. But the glimmer didn't last and he couldn't even manage enough interest to keep it in his mind. All that was there were the haunting thoughts of birthdays past. Days where Fred would have either shoved him out of bed when they shared a room or barged into his room above the shop, making as much noise as possible as he did so. In all their years together George had never been able to beat Fred out of bed on their birthday. Not a single time.