Days are filled with so many jokes, smiles and laughter. They become so common that what you, at one moment, found to be hilarious is completely forgotten in the next moment as you chortle and chuckle over some newly found amusement. At least, that's what it is like until you lose your reason for cheer. George hadn't smiled, joked or laughed for three whole years, almost to the day. Even approaching a snicker or titter had felt wrong or foreign. Being happy was a sin. Being merely content was treason.

So it's hardly surprising that the day he had met her, the girl that made him smile, was an event unlikely to be forgotten.

He had decided that morning to head to the store after a desperate call from Jordan, the newly hired shop assistant who had found himself running Weasley's Wizard Wheezes rather than assisting. Two weeks on the job, and things were a mess. The store was overrun with customers and over-ordered stock boxes, and under-run in general.

Molly, upon hearing George's plans for the day, couldn't hide her approval.

"Oh well done George," she had said, grabbing him in a tight squeeze, "What an excellent idea!"

"Yes son," agreed Arthur, shaking his hand as if his son had just captained the winning team of the Quidditch World Cup. George was used to this sort of spectacle. Whenever he decided to leave his bedroom, his family were almost instantly beside him, cheering him on in sickening pity.

It was Ron's turn. His brother approached him and patted him on the back. The whole family then joined in, nearly pushing George into the chimney with encouragement.

"If you don't want to come home for dinner, we understand. You might want to sleep in the flat?" offered his mother. Molly had gone too far. That flat was not an option. George didn't respond, instead he grabbed a handful of floo powder and left without a goodbye.

At first he was a little peeved at Jordan for calling and couldn't imagine the store being as chaotic as he said, but upon arriving he felt a little sympathetic. Nothing was ordered. Products were strewn everywhere. Customers, mainly troublesome, prepubescent boys, were making a muck of things. Perhaps this was the distraction George had needed. He usually spent is time locked in his room, experimenting with new products.

Almost four hours had passed, and still he had only accomplished a fraction of what needed to be done. It was five o'clock now, and customers were dwindling. Jordan had gone home so George had to continue unloading the stock and service the customers as well. He was unpacking the last of the boxes in the front corner of the store when a woman walked past him, a scowl on her face, a briefcase in her hand.

"Can I help you with anything?" he asked, standing up. The woman flicked her head around, her long black braids fanning with the movement, and looked at George coldly through her glasses. She was dressed in a pants suit in grim grey; her attire contradicting the youth of her face. She must have been about George's age.

"No, thank you."

After three years of his entire acquaintance tip-toeing around his feelings, the woman's iciness surprised him more than it should have. He watched her continue to stalk the shelves of the store, looking up and down for something unknown.

"Excuse me, are you Fred or George?" A boy's voice, from somewhere closer to his feet than his head, broke his gaze.

"George."

The boy, with a face shaped like a hot air balloon, seemed satisfied and directed him to the counter.

"Can you tell me what this does?" He pointed to a dart on the table. It was long and thin, except for the royal blue pouch opposite the pointy end.

"A Speriloco," George answered, "It's enchanted so when you direct it at a target, it makes their skin change colour. This one is blue."

The boy smiled a toothless grin, his cheeks ballooning even more, "Wicked. How much is it?"

"10 Galleons."

His smile ended and his face contorted into deep thought. His eyes narrowed on George.

"That's an awful lot of money. How do I know it works?"

"All our products come with a guarantee." George observed that the young boy didn't appear to know what 'guarantee' meant; his bright blue eyes remained narrowed in suspicion. He look forced an idea into his mind.

"How about we test it?"

"Really?" Now the child was wide-eyed.

"Watch and learn," George answered, picking up the dart and aiming for the back of the girl who had dismissed him before, "How about pigtails?"

The boy nodded enthusiastically, a devious grin on his face.

With a flick of his wrist George cried, "Epiderminus!" and the dart flew into the air straight for the girl. She turned quickly, her wand at the ready, and waved it at the missile. It looped, hovered and redirected itself for the boy.

Just before it reached him she exclaimed, "Expulso!" and the little sack of blue exploded, spilling gunk over the boy's head and the surrounding displays.

"Believe it works now?" she smirked. The slight smile caught George's attention and made him doubt the possibility that this girl could have an icy bone in her body. Her eyes were alight, framed by her tortoiseshell spectacles. Her cheeks flushed.

He followed her eyes down to the boy now covered in blue slime. He raised his eyebrows at George, impressed. George looked back up.

The woman's eyes flicked to him and her expression turned sour. There was the face he remembered.

"And they aren't pigtails, they're plaits," she said. Once again she was rude and unfeeling, but now her tone was surprisingly refreshing. She tucked her wand into her jacket and began to walk out of the store; ultimately unsuccessful in her search. As she strutted off, George watched the loose plaits bounce off her shoulders and fall down her spine, reaching down to the small of her back.

And he smiled.