Disclaimer: Harry Potter is and always will be the property of the amazing JK Rowling, not me. I think you probably already knew that. :P

Author's Note: I've done way too much George Post-DH already (with and without Percy), but this is a slightly different spin on it to my usual. And anyway, I enjoy it! This was written for the Qualifier of smile456smile's 'The Fanfiction Championship' on HPFC. We each have a team of eleven characters to pick and choose from, and we were given the five prompts: 'Beauty is in the eye of the beholder', 'a closed door', 'falling apart', 'Fix You, by Coldplay' and 'flames'. I am attempting to include them all, though some might be more subtle/minor than others.

Why – why didn't I stay in the Ministry?

This thought had been running through Percy's mind over and over again during the two hours he'd spent so far in Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. While he'd been there, he'd nearly been decapitated by a smoking boomerang (which, incidentally, he was certain George had deliberately aimed for his neck), he'd been fed a Canary Cream with his cup of tea and he'd been forced to demonstrate Headless Hats for a laughing crowd. Percy was really missing the safety of his office; it wasn't even half ten yet, and George's grin had already reached Cheshire Cat proportions – all thanks to Percy's humiliation, of course. He should have known better than to agree to lend a hand in the shop; but to be honest, it wasn't like he'd had much of a choice in the matter.

"Hang on, Perce, I just realised something…"

"What?" said Percy warily.

"You never saw our joke shop."

Percy's heart sank instantly. "Didn't I?" he asked, trying hopefully to sound innocent and surprised.

"No, by the time we opened it you'd already gone swanning off to the Ministry like a prat, remember?" George paused, the usual sparkle in his eyes clouding over. "Of course, it's not really the same since Fred… you know."

He'd had to consent to helping out for a while after seeing the despondent look that had crept over George's face at the mention of Fred. What else could he do? Then again, the rate at which George's spirit had returned was, quite frankly, suspicious. If Percy hadn't known better he would have sworn George was just trying to guilt trip him… Even though all the Weasleys had now forgiven Percy for leaving – for which Percy was extremely grateful – George had no scruples about bringing the subject up again whenever it was convenient. Percy had a feeling he'd still be living it down when he was seventy.

"Still just as manipulative a little monster as he was ten years ago," Percy muttered under his breath, as he ducked the boomerang for a second time.

"What was that, Perce?" said George, appearing directly behind Percy with a crack and clapping a hand on his shoulder. "Not missing the Ministry, are you?"

"Maybe just a little," mumbled Percy. He looked around in disgust at the many flashing lights, bangs and puffs of smoke around the shop. "I don't understand how you can live here, George."

"Beauty is in the eye of the beholder," said George lightly.

That was true to an extent, Percy supposed, but all the same… This place was simply awful. Then again, he and the twins had never really been on the same wavelength when it came to explosions and pranks, and it was obvious that George saw Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes in a different light to Percy. There was a definite trace of pride in his eyes when he was in the shop, and something else that Percy couldn't entirely place. It was some kind of strong emotional connection to the place, but Percy had no idea what it was.

"I'm sure you think your boring, old office is gorgeous, don't you?" George continued, snapping Percy out of his reverie.

Percy ignored the jibe and said in his most officious tone, "Have you even considered the Health and Safety regulations?"

"Read them, considered them, dismissed them, burned them," said George cheerfully. "We haven't been taken up on it yet."

Percy opened his mouth to admonish George, but before he could get the words out, the blasted boomerang whizzed at his head again. This time, it was trailing sparks behind it, and Percy had to launch himself sideways into a display of Skiving Snackboxes to avoid it. Its circles seemed to be becoming smaller and smaller, with the result that he was now being forced to dodge it two or three times a minute.

"Can you call this thing off?" he growled at George, crossing his arms protectively over his head.

Laughing, George reached up and snatched it out of the air. "Sorry about that. It locks onto a target, which, in this case, was you."

"This is exactly the kind of thing I was talking about," grumbled Percy. "It could've taken my head off!"

"It is called the Beheading Boomerang," shrugged George.

"It- What?" spluttered Percy.

"Though we've nick-named it the Nearly Headless Nick Boomerang, 'cause we – I – reckon it would take it a good forty five shots to actually get your head off."

Percy stared at him, flabbergasted. "I don't think I can take much more of this," he said eventually.

"Only joking, it wouldn't hurt you really," said George with a beam. Seeing Percy begin to snarl, he hurriedly added, "Tell you what. There's just one more thing I want you to test, and then we can have a break."

Percy was rather alarmed at the slightly evil-looking smirk that slid across George's face as he was speaking, but he didn't even have a chance to object before George began tugging him across to the other side of the shop by the sleeve. They ground to a halt next to a display of brightly-coloured packets, which, to Percy's eyes, looked worryingly ominous with their fiery red lettering that simply marked them, 'Blaze Bars'.

"What exactly do these do?" said Percy in a carefully controlled voice.

"They set you on fire, of course," George told him, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "They're a new product, so we really need a demonstration."

"Me?" choked Percy, looking around wildly in the hope that he would see someone else conveniently dressed in a fire-proof suit.

George smiled. "Consider it repayment for not having seen the shop earlier." Percy still looked unconvinced, so he continued. "And missing Bill's wedding, and not being there when Dad got attacked by a great, bloody sn-"

"All right, all right, I get the point!" Percy interrupted, feeling a familiar pang of guilt twist his stomach. "Honestly, this is incredibly childish, but… I'll do it. I suppose."

"Good man! Right, well hop up onto the till, will you?"

"What?"

"Come on, Perce, we want everyone to be able to see you."

Moaning and grumbling under his breath, Percy reluctantly hauled himself up onto the counter top. Within seconds, the chatter and hubbub died away, and every eye in the shop turned expectantly towards Percy, until he began to feel like the general in charge of an army. Percy gulped.

"Sonorus," George muttered, from somewhere on the floor near him, and then with his voice magically enhanced, he began to speak. "Ladies and gentlemen, allow me to introduce my assistant, Percy. This is all very exciting for him, since he's used to the Ministry of Magic – we all know how dull it is there," – At this, there was a burst of laughter from the crowd – "so everyone try to make him feel welcome." Here, George paused, and a scattered round of applause ran through the audience. Percy felt his face begin to redden with embarrassment, but luckily, George carried on. "So without further ado, I'll hand over to Percy, who's going to demonstrate our new Blaze Bars."

Percy stared down at the sea of faces below him and swallowed hard. His cheeks were already flushed from humiliation, and he could feel his ears turning red. He only hoped it wasn't too obvious to the crowd. He opened his mouth with the intention of making some kind of speech, but no words rose to his lips. Though he would be perfectly capable of giving a twenty minute presentation on cauldron bottom thicknesses (and he had in fact done so in the past) he wasn't a born salesman like George, and would never be able to please a crowd.

Wincing internally at his own silence, he decided just to get the ordeal over with. George reached up, handing him an unwrapped sweet that looked quite like chocolate. Percy stared at it reproachfully for a second, but when it made no move to, say, leap out of his hand and leave him in peace, he closed his eyes and popped it into his mouth. It wasn't an unpleasant taste, he decided. It did indeed taste like chocolate, but had a texture more similar to that of a boiled sweet. However, all thoughts of taste were chased abruptly from Percy's mind the second he began to chew.

As soon as his teeth came into contact with the Blaze Bar (what a ridiculous name) a strange, tingling feeling spread up through the roof of Percy's mouth to the top of his head. His eyebrows creased in nervousness, and then all of a sudden, his hair burst into flames. Percy barely suppressed a yelp as the fire began to lick at his temples; he simply stood stock still, staring out dazedly at his audience, which had let out a whoop of excitement. Percy could feel the waves of heat coming off his hair, and he could see flames out of the corner of his eyes, glowing an orangey colour as they danced over the top of his head.

It was a very odd sensation. It wasn't painful as such, but the fire was still quite hot, and Percy couldn't stop his brain from screaming at him that he was going to get hurt if he didn't do something quickly. It made him feel decidedly jumpy, and he quickly made up his mind that he'd rather not remain a walking bonfire for any longer. Percy chomped down the sweet as fast as he could, and, with great relief, swallowed it.

Unfortunately for Percy, this didn't seem to do the trick; his hair was still blazing merrily. The crowd's cheers were growing louder now as the flames leaped higher, and Percy found himself thinking longingly of the stack of forms waiting to be filled out in his office. He wondered how long it was going to be before the flames died out; at that point, it struck him that he might carry on burning until the wretched sweet was out of his digestive system.

Feeling distinctly panicked, Percy began to beat at his hair with his hands. However, when he removed his hands, he was alarmed to discover that they were now ablaze as well. The audience was going wild by this point, and a queue had begun to form by the display of Blaze Bars. Why anyone would intentionally set themself on fire was beyond Percy, but he had a more pressing concern on his mind at the moment – namely, the fact that the flames had now spread up the sleeves of his robes. He groaned, cursing himself for ever stepping through the door of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, and pressed his knuckles to his forehead.

This turned out to be a mistake. As Percy's entire face burst into flames, he could have burst into frustrated tears. He began to stumble down from the till, barely able to see past the inferno that was blazing in front of his eyes, and George took him by the arm, sniggering as he led Percy away into the back room of the shop. He noticed bitterly that George had not been set alight, which he supposed was because the sweet wasn't in his system. All the same, it wasn't fair. He'd never signed up to become a walking fireball, and the least George could do was suffer alongside him.

Lost in his own thoughts and still half-blinded by the flames, Percy tripped into a chair. He pulled it out and sat down heavily, trying not to look too sulky. George dropped down opposite him and burst out laughing.

"Your expression, Perce," he choked out eventually, tears of mirth streaming down his face as he collapsed again into silent fits of hysterics.

Percy crossed his arms, trying to look dignified, which was rather difficult when his entire body was on fire.

"How long is this going to go on?" he asked eventually.

George waved a hand airily. "It varies. About fifteen to thirty minutes."

Percy's eyes widened in horror. "Fifteen to thirty minutes?" he repeated. "Fifteen. To. Thirty?"

"Well, you did eat a whole one."

"But- You mean I could be stuck like this for a full half hour?"

"Only possibly," said George, beginning to sound slightly apprehensive as Percy got more and more worked up.

Percy leapt up from his seat. "No, I can't do this," he announced. "I should never have tried something you created; I'm going to go and extinguish myself."

Blindly, Percy hurtled across the storeroom he and George were in towards a closed door at the back. He grabbed the handle, hoping the room was some kind of bathroom, or at least that he could find a nice rug to beat out the flames with.

"Wait, no, not in there!" called George, sounding slightly panicked and jumping up from his own seat.

George began to hurry towards Percy, but he was too late; the door had already swung open. Percy stepped inside, staring around him. The room itself was dark, blinds drawn tightly across the windows, but Percy could see clearly by the light of… well… himself. Layered around the walls and scattered across the floor were an assortment of objects, from pictures to joke products to items of clothing. For some strange reason, there was even a mirror propped up against one wall.

"What is this place, George?" said Percy quietly, forgetting for the moment about his problem.

"It doesn't matter," said George desperately, seizing the back of Percy's robes and trying to drag him back. "Come on, I'll try to put out the fire, just… come on."

Percy ignored him, stepping further into the room.

"Please, Percy. It's nothing important, I just don't want…"

Percy knelt down in the middle of the floor and picked up a framed picture that was lying next to him. It showed Fred and George together, standing on Platform Nine and Three Quarters, grinning and waving happily out at him with Fred's arm slung over George's shoulders. He remembered that photo; it had been taken on the twins' first day at Hogwarts. Percy felt a lump begin to form in his throat as he watched the Fred in the photo laugh at some forgotten joke, so he put it down again and turned away before he succumbed to tears. The next object he picked up was a thick, woollen jumper, unmistakably hand-knitted by his mother. He smoothed it out on his lap, and was only half-surprised to see a large, yellow 'F' emblazoned across the front.

"Percy…" George tried again. He sounded close to tears.

"It's all Fred, isn't it?" said Percy, surprised at how steady his voice held.

He turned around finally, and was shocked to see that George had sunk to his knees at the entrance to the room. George remained hunched on the floor and didn't look up at Percy, but he gave a small nod. A stab of grief for George hit Percy, and it was all he could do not to start crying himself.

"I- I'm sorry," he said. Still no reaction from George. "I thought you were… all right."

Finally, George's head snapped up, his eyes burning into Percy's. "What, am I just supposed to get over him? Just like that?" He snapped his fingers.

"No, of course not, I never said-"

"He's – he was – my twin. I don't just want him back, I need him, Percy."

"Sorry, I thought-"

"I don't expect you to understand," George spat. That hurt.

"Then explain," said Percy levelly.

George looked at Percy appraisingly for a second, his head cocked on one side. And then, "I just miss him," he said quietly.

He scrambled across the floor to sit down next to Percy, leaning over to trace the 'F' on the jumper with one finger. Then, without warning, the lone twin seemed to crumple in on himself. He drew up his knees to his chest, hugging himself tightly as though his whole body, or heart, or something was falling apart, and his own arms were the only things keeping him from breaking into tiny pieces. Percy nervously patted him on the shoulder. He could feel his younger brother trembling slightly, and when George spoke again, his voice was shaky and muffled by his own knees.

"I just needed somewhere to come t-to think about him, y'know?" He swallowed hard and drew in a wobbly breath. "It's hard to believe that he's never coming back, that's all. We were never really apart, and then- then-"

George let out a choked sobbing noise, apparently unable to go on. He raised his face again, swiping his sleeve across his eyes and blinking rapidly. He shuddered, and then he let his head drop down so his cheek was resting against Percy's arm, tears streaming silently down his face and his shoulders shaking. Percy stared at the ginger head in horror and almost pushed it back off of him or recoiled, assuming George had only placed it there by accident. It definitely didn't help that his younger brother's face now appeared to be wreathed in flames…

However, with a deep, calming breath and a vague air of martyrdom, Percy awkwardly stretched his arms out around George, patting him on the back in what he hoped was a consoling manner. It must have worked, because George began to speak again.

"That's why I'm working so hard on the shop. It was our thing, he loved it. He'd murder me if I gave up on it." George forced a laugh. "So I have to carry on. Anyway, I see him in it, which is… nice on some days and bloody awful on others." George's voice cracked, and he broke off again, burying his face in Percy's shoulder.

Percy had no idea what had made George suddenly decide to open up to him, but he supposed it could only be a good thing. It somehow lessened the guilt that had been gnawing away at his insides since… well, since the battle, really. Perhaps even since he'd left home for the first time. The idea that George had forgiven him, and actually wanted him there and valued him, made him feel less like he was just a poor replacement for Fred.

Tears prickled at the back of his eyes at this thought, and almost unconsciously he drew his brother closer into his side, a single tear rolling down his cheek. He'd learned from his mistakes, and he was never going to leave again. George needed him – that much was obvious – and the least he could do was to try to fix him. The two stayed in that position for some time, encircled by a fiery glow, with tongues of flame lapping around them. It was only when the flames flickered and died out, plunging Percy and George into darkness, that they were roused from their thoughts.

"Umm… We'd better get back to work," said George, sounding slightly dazed. He wiped his sleeve over his cheeks again and fixed a brittle smile to his face. "Come on."

Percy followed him out, back through the storeroom and out into the main section of the shop. George bounded straight off to talk to some customers, leaving Percy on his own to stare out at the rows of joke products. It was strange; the clutter and mess looked less chaotic now. There was something vaguely reassuring about it, something that cried, 'Fred'.

Everything made sense to Percy now. George was right; beauty was in the eye of the beholder. This – Fred – was the bond that he had to the shop. Percy understood that now. When he looked at the products, he no longer saw just an accident waiting to happen. Instead, the shop was a testimony to Fred. It was full of his love, his dreams and his hopes.

Somehow, that was more beautiful to Percy than anything else could have been.

Author's Note: I hope you enjoyed the story. If you have a moment to spare, I'd love a few reviews! Anything's very welcome – comments, constructive criticism, complaints, whatever. :P