Author's Note: So, this ficlet started as a part of a much longer George Weasley-centered fic, but when the fic itself looked like it was never going to get off the ground I started posting self-sufficient bits and pieces of it, thinking that even if the central story was never finished, at least parts of it would see the light of day.

Then I actually started to write the fic. And it started to come together! And I took down the self-sufficient bits I'd posted, happy in the knowledge that (a) at least they were fully written and required no more work and (b) they would finally end up nestled within the fic that had given birth to them. And then I was ready to post it. And then I realized that the little take-out bits? No longer fit so good.

Sigh.

So, reposting again. You can think of this as an outtake from Leave Out All the Rest, if you wish, or you can think of it as totally unrelated. I'll be reposting the other two ficlets in the next week or so, but this one fits with the day so here it is.

ooo000ooo

April Fool's

Ron yawned, wishing he hadn't left all the trick wands till the end of the day. He finished charming the third dozen and glanced over at George, who was reading through a long scroll of parchment with a distracted air and making markings in the margins. "What are you doing?"

"Contract renewal. Eller's Ethers."

"Oh, you were going to teach me how to do those," Ron reminded him, grateful for a chance to abandon the trick wands, and plonked himself down next to George. George gave him a startled glance, then looked resigned and sighed.

"You don't have to," Ron said, clueing in. Apparently George was having a bad moment. George during a bad moment equaled stay the hell away, mostly, because he got irritable if he didn't get the space he needed to pull himself back together.

"No, you're right, you may as well learn. It doesn't come up very often, but it's always a bit of a hassle. You may as well share the pain."

"Thanks ever so," Ron said dryly.

"Right, so first you need to look over the previous year's accounts for the products the store supplies us with or buys from us," George began dully, and Ron sighed inwardly. This was supposed to be fun. It was a joke shop, after all. And sometimes it was fun - a lot of fun - but sometimes it really seemed like being here and doing this work only underscored how much George had lost.

Ron brought his attention to the contract, following as George walked him through the process of contract renewal, both of them quite bored. George had once said Fred had actually liked this kind of thing. Who would've ever guessed that of the two of them, George was the more creative and impulsive, and Fred was the detail-oriented one. Fred had always been the louder one, the one who seemed to initiate most of their schemes and jokes. Funny that the internal workings of the duo had been so different from what it looked like on the surface.

"...and then the last part, the renewal date." George sighed again. "And..." he paused and then seemed to shake himself, sitting up a bit straighter. "Right. Now here's the part they don't tell you right away when you get into this business," he said briskly. "With most contracts, you just confirm the renewal date and that's it. But. See the date on this one?"

Ron looked at the line at the bottom. "April fir-" he broke off with a sharp pang, but George merely nodded.

"That means you're dealing with a fellow prankster. For most businesses we work with, it's just a regular contract. When the renewal date is April Fool's, it's like a code of honour or something, you are obliged to prank one other. The point is to put one item in the contract that you don't actually mean. That item will be stricken, and the rest of the contract will go as written. Now, different people approach it different ways; some make the joke item fairly obvious, like Bristol Funsupplies, who always set the delivery date of one item on June thirty-first." He rolled his eyes. "High humour value there. You can really tell they take this tradition seriously. With others, you've got to look carefully to find it."

"So which is it in this contract?"

"You figure it out."

"D'you know what it is?"

"Yeah. Go find it."

Ron went through the contract a second time, and then again, ignoring George's growing smirk, but for the life of him couldn't think of anything that looked off.

"Give?" said George.

"Give," Ron said glumly.

"Item six. They agree to pay full price for our Winter Daydream Scent, provided we use only Essence of Hairless Ookpik in the base."

"How's that a joke?"

"An Ookpik is nothing but hair. If you shave him, he isn't there. We'd drive ourselves spare trying to fill the order."

"What if you could do it?"

"You can't, not for this one."

"Sometimes you might."

"Well, if you're able to fulfill the joke item, you can strike out any other item and the other side has to perform the rest of the contract anyway. You could even strike out the part where you paid them, but nobody would actually do that; bad for ongoing business relationships." He smiled. "The first year, Phillpot's Potty Puffskeins was late with shipments about four times, and once they tried to tell us their Newt's Eye pet food was fresh when it was actually molding. French Newts, specially fermented, they told us. So when we got their new contract, Fred decided he'd get them back. Item twelve said, 'The first payment of the year shall be delivered to Gringott's by a proprietor of Wheezes wearing nothing but a smile.' And it was."

"He didn't," said Ron.

"He did." George grinned. "'Course, before going, he stole some hair from old Phillpot, and Polyjuiced into him. I still say it wasn't worth it - not only did it taste foul, but Phillpot's ninety years old, had severe heartburn, and outweighed Fred by ten stone. Fred swore he could still feel the extra pounds jiggling days later. Traumatic, he called it."

Ron snickered. "And what did you strike out on their contract?"

"Any penalty or interest on late payments. We never used it, but it was fun knowing they'd be sweating every three months, wondering if they'd get our payment on time. We were one of their biggest customers."

"I'd guess he didn't try the same joke the next year?"

"Oh, he did. But he specified that the payment had to be delivered sans Polyjuice, in daylight, no concealment charms or spells of any kind."

"Ah."

"So of course Fred did it anyway."

"Starkers?"

"As the day he was born."

"Down Diagon Alley?"

"Whistling. And cheerfully waving at passersby."

"Wasn't he arrested?"

"Well somebody had stolen hair from old man Phillpot the previous year and streaked down the alley, right? Now, I never actually told the Auror who came into the shop and tried to arrest me for indecency that somebody must've nicked some of my hair and used it in Polyjuice. So if that's what he wrote in his report, I've no idea why." He chuckled. "And if the dozen or so patrons who told him I'd been in the shop the entire time neglected to mention that we were twins... well, I wouldn't say they deliberately tried to misdirect the Auror. It was probably just all a big misunderstanding, I'm sure."

Ron shook his head, chuckling.

"So, there you go. The other thing that makes this even more fun is that of course April Fool's is the biggest business day of the year for joke shops. So the very date that the renewal goes through, most of us are too busy to really check that everything's going according to contract. It all works out, though. Nobody gets seriously hurt."

"It's that big a day?"

"Huge," George said seriously. "Our first year we ran out of a third of our stock before noon. Last year we raked in Galleons like you wouldn't believe. Which was a bloody good thing, as we had to go into hiding not long afterwards. It's why we didn't take as big a loss as we might've. We hadn't even deposited in Gringott's, just kept it ready to take with us."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Don't know how big it'll be this year, but with the war over, people are spending a lot of money. So I'll be hiring an extra worker or two to help that week, have the shelves fully stocked, go all out. We'll open early and close late. Don't worry, I'll leave all the instructions with you and Verity."

"Aren't you going to be there?"

George looked back down at the contract. "No," he said shortly.

"Where're you going?"

"The Apothecary's making me a twenty-five hour dose of Dreamless Sleep," he said casually, making a few more notes on the parchment. "I'll take it at 11:30 the night of March 31, wake up half past midnight on April 2, no fuss, no muss, just skip the whole bloody thing." George squinted at an item, crossed something out and scribbled in the margin. "Don't worry, I asked and it's perfectly safe. Though you're welcome to check on me if Mum says you have to."

Ron swallowed hard and there was a silence for a few minutes, as George put the finishing touches on the contract and sealed it and Ron wished there was something he could say or do.

"It'd be rough, wouldn't it," he said inanely.

"Yeah."

He fidgeted for a moment, wishing he had some way of getting George to talk, but George didn't talk unless he wanted to. And Ron had no idea how to get him to want to, so he decided to babble, because maybe he'd bollix it up but sometimes staying silent also bollixed things up, didn't it?

"I... I'm sorry. I wish - d'you want to... bloody hell. Is it just that it'd be rough, celebrating without him? Or not knowing whether to celebrate or not..." and perhaps he should really just not talk, because George was staring at the parchment in front of him blankly.

George looked up, searching Ron's eyes for something.

"It's not the party. Or lack thereof," he finally said slowly. "It's not that. We've done birthdays since then, you know. We had Ginny and Percy and Mum and Dad." He cleaned out his quill, tapping it absently on the edge of the desk. "And what a joy those were, learning how to buy presents by myself. It's not that. It's the date itself. What it'll mean."

"What?" Ron asked quietly.

George shook his head. "It's... it's stupid." He took a deep breath. "It'll mean I'm really not a twin any more. Save your breath, I know I haven't been in a long time, I'm pretty well aware of that. But it's..." he trailed off, stared at the table. "When you're a twin, you have a brother or sister who's the exact same age as you. And I won't, not any more." He swallowed. "I'll be twenty-one, and my twin will be twenty. And then I'll be twenty-two, and twenty-three, and thirty... and he'll still be twenty. Someday I'll get married and maybe even have kids. And he'll still be twenty, getting farther and farther away." His voice roughened on the last word and he stopped, biting his lip.

Ron swallowed past the lump in his throat.

"They say time heals all wounds," George said softy. "But how can... what the hell do they know? 'Cause I can still hear his voice - and not just 'cause mine is the same - but I can still tell what he'd think or say or do about just about anything, and even if it... if it hurts, at least it's still there." He stopped and cleared his throat. "But it's going to be there less and less the more time goes on. There's already been so many things that've happened where I can't imagine what he would've said about them, because he just never went through them." He looked up, and Ron felt a stab in his chest at the tears in George's eyes. "How do you celebrate your kid sister's coming of age when everyone's still grieving? How d'you celebrate your older brother's birthday when he's finally back in the family and you know you would've done something amazing... and probably embarrassing... before - before everything went to shit?" He drew in a shaking breath.

"Sometimes it feels like we should all be OK now," Ron said, his own voice a bit hoarse. "Used to it, or something. But we're not, are we?"

"More like with every day there's more things that he's missed. The list just gets longer."

Ron nodded, not trusting his own voice. They were silent for a long moment, before Ron ventured to speak. "I... I sometimes forget. That he's gone. It's like him not being here is normal. And then it feels awful, because how can it be normal?"

George nodded.

"But I'm still not used to you being on your own," Ron said, not knowing if this was making George feel the slightest bit better, but George had said enough times that he hated people censoring themselves around him. "It's so bloody wrong."

George nodded again, still looking down. "'s too much, you know? And it's bloody stupid," he wiped at his eyes impatiently. "I could blow up a cauldron tomorrow and this'll all be a moot point, but I keep thinking, someday I'll turn forty-one and I'll have been alive as a singleton longer than I was ever a twin, and fuck, that's depressing." He bowed his head and covered his eyes, taking a few deep breaths, and Ron started to wonder if maybe keeping his mouth shut might have been the cleverer option after all.

"Augh, listen to me," George said irately. "Filling out a bloody contract and I'm," he made a vague impatient gesture at himself, wiped his eyes quickly. "Right, George, you berk, get on with it," he muttered under his breath.

"I... I'm sorry. I shouldn't've said anything."

"You think if nobody talks about it, I'm not thinking it?" George said bitterly. "That might work for Charlie. Not so much for me."

Ron nodded, and hesitantly touched George's shoulder. "I just wish... there was some way to make this better. For any of us."

George shrugged and gave him a wan smile. "We just have to keep pushing through, I suppose. Come on, let's finish up here and go home."

ooo000ooo

Author's Note: Ookpik, by the way, is Inuit for "snow owl." They were very popular as children's toys a while back, and usually made of a round ball of fluff with two eyes and a beak. Dennis Lee, a Canadian poet, made up a poem about them, which started with "An Ookpik is nothing but hair. If you shave him, he isn't there."