George glared at Percy stonily. He wanted to cover his ears, shout that it should have been Percy, not Fred; but didn't. Even he couldn't be that cruel, and it would be a lie anyway. And George knew he was only good at lying to himself.
"I don't want to talk about this at all," he growled finally, when the silence grew to be too loud. He could almost ear Fred making fun of them both, and very carefully muted his dead twin's voice. He'd grown very good at that over the past five years.
"There's nothing that needs to be done, I'm doing fine on my own. I have the shop, and it's doing splendidly, thanks for asking. So, you don't have to worry your perfect little head, and we can both go home."