"Your main source of humor comes at the expense of others and your bereavement has left you with a startling complex often confused for vanity."
"Excuse me? Vanity?"
George trudges through the empty shop. The shelves are collecting dust.
A raised eyebrow. "No one can live up to your Freddie. That's how we see it. You and I know the truth, but to everyone else, you're just being a vain git. Not settling for anything as good as yourself. As good as him."
The bell on the door rings. A familiar sound. George smiles.
Fingers stroked lightly through bright red hair.
"Could we," A pause, "Could I have made it easier? What was the hardest part?"
"Everyone telling me what he would want, if he were still here. Telling me like I didn't already know."
George feels a hand on his shoulder. He hears Hermione's voice behind him, matching the one in his memory.
"You may hate me for saying this, but Fred would want you to do this."
George nods. "I know."