George Weasley wakes up on May 3rd, 1998 in his childhood bedroom. He hadn’t slept here in months, since he and Fred slept in the back of their shop. It wasn’t a particularly restful sleep, and his head throbs painfully.
“Freddie,” he whispers into the morning air, “are you awake?”
No response. Something is tight in his chest, and his eyes feel puffy. He sits up in his bed, careful not to bump his head on the bunk above him. He’s not wearing his pajamas, and the clothes he does have on are bloody.
Carefully, George climbs out of bed and peeks over the top bunk, where Fred should be. Fred isn’t there, and when George reaches out to feel the bed, he sees his bloodstained hands.
He isn’t tired as the memories come flooding back. A strange noise escapes him. It’s almost as if his soul knows the truth before he can comprehend it. His twin brother is gone.
He’s on the ground now. His hands are bloody and the wall is collapsing and why didn’t he grab him- Fred is on the ground and he’s bleeding but he’s smiling-
Fuck, the blood on his hand is Fred’s.
One is the loneliest number that you’ll ever do
Someone is opening his door, calling his name. He looks up to see a flash of red hair, and shoves down the thought of Fred.
He’s being wrapped in a hug, and Percy of all people is there, hushing his sobs. “I know, I know.” he says, rocking back and forth. “I know.”
He must look awful, because Percy has never been so kind to him. (He wishes it were Fred here, comforting him instead).
“My hands, Percy.” he says through sobs. “It’s his, it’s his.” He wants the blood off, but this is the only proof he has that this is real, that Fred ever existed.
“We can wash your hands, come on-” Percy begins, before George starts to cry harder. “George, we have to get you cleaned up.”
He’s hyperventilating now. Percy’s face waivers in and out of his vision. Percy is saying something, shouting over his shoulder.
He can see other people come into his room, but he doesn’t care. None of them are Fred.
Two can be as bad as one
It's the loneliest number since the number one
It takes hours for him to calm down, and even then, it's mostly because George has long run out of tears to cry.
His mum managed to get him to eat breakfast, but everytime he looked to his left, he saw Fred’s absence. Fred is always to his left at the dining table. He's supposed to be there, and he’s not. Fred Weasley is in some body bag, and he will never be to George’s left again.
No, Fred is gone for good.
…
The funeral is a quiet affair. Lee isn't able to come, because he's all the way in Spain. His family had fled during the war, and they hadn't been able to get a port-key because the Ministry had the borders closed.
The quidditch team is there, of course. Angelina claps him on the shoulder, but he's too tired to react much.
(This wasn't supposed to happen. He wasn't supposed to go to his twin’s funeral so young. It wasn't fair.)
Katie sits down next to him briefly, tells him she's sorry for his loss. A lot of people have been saying that to him. He doesn't get why. It's not like being sorry will bring him back, make any of it better.
He thanks her anyway.
Oliver comes at some point too, but he sits next to Percy, who has Penelope glued to his other side. Something in George hisses at that. Percy’s boyfriend can come, but Fred’s can't. Percy gets to go on dates, but Fred’s ashes are about to be spread.
(His parents hadn’t planned most of the funeral. Dad was busy with work and Mum still cried when she looked at him. It was Bill’s decision to not do an open casket funeral. He said it would be too much for everyone. He was probably right.)
The neighbors come. The Diggory’s sit next to his parents, which he supposes is good because they understand child loss. Luna and her father sit next to Ginny, who leans on Luna’s shoulder. In between Ginny and Ron is Harry, who is holding both of their hands. Hermione is on the other side of Ron, her knee touching his.
(He wants Lee. Or maybe he doesn't. He's not quite sure.)
Bill’s friend, Benjamin, is next to him too. Charlie is the only one without a friend. Tonks’ funeral had been last week, and Charlie had come home dead eyed.
The quidditch team is closest to him, with Angelina and Katie being closest, but he can't muster up the energy to look at anything but the vase that contains Fred’s remains.
The wizard in the front is doing the traditional speech about how magic is a cycle and death is a part of it, but he sounds muffled, like George is under water and waves crash into his head every time he bobs up to take a breath. Like he's drowning.
His father speaks a bit about Fred. So does Oliver. Ron and Ginny go up together, so close they almost look like one person. (His aunt used to say they were the same person, him and Fred. His uncle called them Freorge before he passed when he was seven. It was obvious who was who after George’s ear got cut off, but now there was no one to mix him up with.)
He was originally supposed to go up and talk, but he told Bill he didn't want to. He doesn't feel like talking much anymore.
George isn't sure how long the funeral lasts. Time is funny lately. It ticks by slowly and slips past his hands like sand. He just knows that Charlie nudges him and they stand up, and Charlie grabs his elbow and leads him outside, and everyone's friends are gone except for Harry and Hermione because Ron gets panic attacks without them.
When George blinks, they're at the Burrow. “We’re spreading the ashes.” Bill tells him. “His favorite spot, remember?”
He does remember this. He remembers the summers spent in the woods behind the house, the one you had to walk through to get to the Lovegood’s house and walk even further to get to the Diggory’s. Him and Fred went to a creek almost a thirty minute hike away everyday they could during summer break.
They would sit there and read and take notes for products, they'd nap on the rocks and listen to the birds sing. Sometimes they'd take off their shoes and socks to stick their feet in the water. Often, they'd stay out for hours until one of their stomachs growled irritably for food.
It was the only place they allowed themselves to dream of their shop. It had pained him to tell his family about this spot - he almost didn't, almost selfishly kept it to himself like a dragon hoarding gold - but he wanted Fred’s soul to live forever there.
An elbow hits his ribs. He inhales sharply, reality crashing into him. Ginny is next to him now, watching him with concern she doesn't bother hiding. “We’re here.” she says.
They are. He hadn't registered his feet moving.
“You first, George.” someone says.
He doesn't care who says it. He takes a handful of Fred ash.
Instinctually, he wants to hold it close. He wants to shield it from the wind, make sure it never blows away. To protect it like he couldn't do for Fred.
He doesn't. Instead, he opens his palm, and the wind scoops the ash up.
It carries him gently, and George hopes that his brother could dance this way forever.
No is the saddest experience you'll ever know
Yes, it's the saddest experience you'll ever know
It takes almost two weeks until George stops turning to say something to Fred, stops pausing for him to finish a joke, stops elbowing the air where his brother should be.
(A part of him hates how quick he’s able to forget the motions that had once been second nature)
He spends most of his time in his room, staring at the wall. Ginny has come in a few times to try to plan a prank, but she always leaves unanswered after a few minutes.
Mum came too, but she could hardly look at him without her voice cracking. Dad wasn’t much better, and he had begun to spend more time at work anyway, trying to brush over the War’s effect on muggles.
Bill and Charlie were out of the house again. Bill was staying with Fleur, and Charlie was off in Romania again. There was a voice in George’s brain that hated them, that resented their ability to return to normal like Fred never existed. There was another voice, though, a much quieter one, that resented them because he couldn't do the same.
Ron spent most of his time with Harry and Hermione. He came into George’s room a few times, with food usually, and wouldn’t leave until the food was gone. George had tried to refuse the food at first, because he hoped if he didn’t eat he’d see Fred again, but Ron had bristled.
“I’m trying to help, George.” he snapped. “Just let me. I don't want to lose another brother.”
George ate when Ron asked after that.
Percy was the one he tolerated the most, surprisingly. Most often, Percy would come home from work and read on the floor by George’s bed. Everytime, he entered with two glasses of water, and an extra book for George.
“I know you haven't read this one, George.” he said the first time he visited. “It’s relatively new. It has a few chapters on explosion charms.”
George had just grunted and rolled over.
“You like reading, I know you do. I've seen you do it plenty,” Percy continued, coming closer. “And I know you like exploding charms because you’ve asked Charlie about them every time he visits.”
When George refused to answer, Percy sighed and sat down to read again, leaving the book untouched on the bedside table. It would stay there, even after Percy left, just in case.
The stack grew a lot over the course of the next few weeks.
Because one is the loneliest number that you'll ever do
One is the loneliest number that you'll ever know
He’s reminded violently of the shop when an eviction notice is sent in the mail. It's been closed for months now. There's probably cobwebs and dust coating the shelves.
He makes Ginny go with him. She seems surprised he asked, but she nods and goes to change.
They arrive at the shop to find the windows boarded.
“Wow,” Ginny says as he unlocks the door. It creaks open slowly. “Suppose we should clean up here.”
She's right. Dust coats the walls heavily, and George knows several of their products are expired. He’d have to throw them out. The potions lab in the back probably was in worse condition. There's a funny smell coming from the right of the shop, and he suspects rodents got into the Puking Pastries.
“Maybe we can bring the others over, make a day of it.” Ginny is saying. “Invite Lee! Percy can help you with the eviction stuff.”
He hums, wandering around the shop. Ginny mindlessly trails after him. He pushes past the check out, down a hallway. The bathroom looks alright, but could probably use some scrubbing. There's a shelf of books on one side, covered in dust and he thinks he might hear doxies.
He opens the door to the lab. He was right. It's filthy. Ginny gags from behind him, so George is quick to close the door, and they move on.
He stops at the bottom of a staircase. Ginny goes quiet next to him. The stairs are wooden, and warped strangely. There's a step that's missing about halfway up, and several that squeak obnoxiously. Fred and him never got the chance to fix them.
Up the stairs lies their bedroom.
(They had spent the first three weeks there after buying the shop. They worked constantly to install lighting and decorations, and often would crash in their beds as a result.
It wasn't homey whatsoever, and the walls were blank outside of a quidditch poster for the Falmouth Falcons and a couple pictures thumbtacked to the wall. There were two twin beds shoved in each corner, and a tiny kitchen. Bill brought them a few chairs, but they broke two horsing around the first night.
It was harder than either of them realized to live on their own. Books and notes were shoved on every flat surface, clothes were haphazardly scattered across the floor, and the dishes were adding up.
There wasn't time for chores, but Fred and George had never had more fun.)
Ginny nudged him. “Go up, we should gather some of his things.”
He tried to move, but it felt like his lungs were being crushed (Fred is dead, his head is bleeding why won't it stop he's dead he's dead-)
“George.”
He doesn't register shaking his head until Ginny asks why he's doing it. He doesn't know.
Fred was supposed to be here. It was their dream, not just George’s. He came up with half the ideas, he was the one who installed the bookshelves in the lab, who he had raced up the stairs.
Fred was supposed to be here, and he wasn’t.
He only had a few months of his dream. He wouldn't see the joy in children’s eyes or the fond eye rolling of parents. He wouldn't hear the laughter of teenagers or hushed whispers between friends planning mischief. He wouldn't be there for the planning and the potions, he wouldn't be there to read silently for hours at a time, to take notes, or to add to the ever-growing list of product names.
He would not be there when Weasley Wizard Wheezes made it big. He would not be there to hear their mum say she's proud (She would, they had both agreed. Once she saw the difference they made, she would be proud of her dropout sons.)
It wasn't fair for George to experience it. Not without Fred. Not when the dream is forever incomplete without his brother.
So he wouldn’t experience it.
He turns to Ginny, who's beginning to get frantic. “I’m selling the shop.”
It's just no good anymore since you went away
Now I spend my time just making rhymes of yesterday
Percy and George are sitting in his bedroom again, as usual, when he tells Percy he's selling the shop.
He hears Percy shift. His older brother won't take it well, he knows. He waits for the interrogation. It doesn't happen.
After a very long pause, Percy asks, still staring at his book but not reading, “Why?”
He shrugs.
Percy glances at him. “Don't shrug, George, I can't see you do that when I’m reading.”
George rolls his eyes.
“George, I’m trying to help you here. Just let me.” Percy is putting his bookmark in, closing his book, his attention on George. It's suffocating.
“Fuck off,” George says, pulling his sheets up closer to his chest. “I don't want your help.”
His older brother frowns deeply at that. “You never do,” he says. “I don't care. It's my job to keep you sane and alive.”
“It was your job to keep Fred alive, too.”
He isn't sure why he said it, or why Percy’s shocked face is so satisfying. His chest is tight, and his throat feels like it's collapsing in on itself.
“You failed at that, Percy. What makes you think you won’t fail at this too?”
Percy stands up sharply. “Stop, George.” he says, but George can see the shine in his eyes, the red rims, the blush painting his cheeks. It spurs him on, in some twisted way.
“I hate you.” his voice cracks embarrassingly. “You killed him, Perce. You killed him. I don't think I can ever forgive you for it.”
“I didn't-”
“He was laughing. He was distracted. He could have moved, but you opened your stupid fucking mouth and he didn't.”
“He- Fred wouldn't want you to blame me-”
“Get out, Percy.”
“George, I get it, you're upset. I’m sorry I’ve been pushing you so much, I’m trying to keep you from spiraling again-”
“Get out.”
“No,” Percy says, stronger than expected. “I can't trust you with yourself right now.”
He's kicking off his sheets, he's standing up. His fists are clenched, he's walking over to where his older brother is standing, he's trembling.
And George Weasley punches him.
He's screaming words, he's on top of Percy, and Percy is punching back. Percy has never been much of a fighter, and neither has George. Fred was always the angrier one, while George had always been the grudge holder.
He stops when Percy starts begging.
“Fred, Fred stop.” Percy says, and George sees his bloody nose. Sees his own hands, covered in another brother's blood.
(He's dead, he's dead. Fred is dead.)
Percy clears up fast when he recognizes his mistake. “George,” he whispers. “George, I’m sor-”
“I wish you would've died instead of him.”
(His parents are there quickly, yelling and grabbing Percy’s hands, shooting him concerned and disappointed looks, but Percy never looks away from him.)
(George will never admit that he didn't wish Percy was dead. He will never admit that, out of everyone, he wished he had died instead.)
Because one is the loneliest number that you'll ever do
One is the loneliest number that you'll ever know
Percy stops coming to his room after their fight. He asks Ron about him when he comes in to deliver food, but Ron just says he needs space.
“It was a shitty thing to say to him, George. He blames himself as much as you do.” Ron says, giving him a rare, disapproving look. “I know you’re grieving, but so is everyone else.”
(George knows he’s making it harder for his family. He knows they’re worried because he’s almost never left alone anymore. It’s not like he wants to be this way.)
(Maybe it would be for the best if he was gone, too.)
He doesn’t sleep that night. Instead, he gathers paper, ink, and a quill.
‘I’m sorry, Percy,’ he writes. ‘I love you.’
He writes to everyone he can think of. (Maybe it'll be easier if he knows they'll find his goodbyes.) (He never got a proper goodbye from Fred.)
When he's done, he carefully places them in a neat pile on his bedside, on top of the books Percy has given him and all his mail. All the courage from the war must have died with Fred, because he isn’t sure he can walk towards his bedroom door. Not alone. Not when he knows he won't walk back in.
Wand in hand, he creeps over to the wardrobe. He pulls out a stuffed elephant. Fred’s old stuffed animal, an old, dirty pale blue toy with several patches and brightly colored stitches. His own, a monkey with a missing eye and just as many stitches, is next. Gently placing them under his arm, he goes towards the door.
(As children, Fred and George brought them everywhere. They stopped after they turned six, but going everywhere together had the same effect anyway. Having someone next to him was something George took for granted, and now that it was gone, he didn't think he'd ever stop chasing the feeling of it.)
No one will find him in the field, hopefully. They’ll know what happened as soon as they see he’s gone from his room. With any luck, they won't go searching themselves. He feels a little bad that someone will find his dead body, but as long as it's not his family, he doesn't mind.
(George knows his family will be upset. Fred would have killed him, and if the afterlife was real, he was in for a lot of yelling. He didn’t particularly care. Even if Fred was mad at him for all of eternity, it would be worth it to see him again.)
Years of sneaking around the house with Fred taught him which steps to avoid due to their creaking and which doors screech when opened. It's because of this that George is able to escape into the open field quickly and silently.
He walks fast, trying not to think of the quidditch games held here, the degnoming, the hide-and-go-seek games, of Death Eaters burning his home down, of Harry chasing them and Ginny running after him and not being sure either of them would come back.
When the Burrow is far enough away, George sits down in the grass. Carefully, he sets the two stuffed animals behind him, just so he can make himself believe someone was watching his back for attackers. Grass brushes against his arms.
He hopes he doesn't rot before someone finds him.
A quick cutting curse to the wrists draws more blood than he expects. It's pouring out, staining his pajama pants, dripping onto the grass. He can't stop now, but his wand is suddenly much harder to hold.
He manages another curse, this time to his thigh, before his wand clatters to the ground. His left pants leg is torn and stained with blood now.
And then he looks at his hands.
Blood. Blood is everywhere. The wall crumbles from behind him, and he barely sees Percy’s grin disappearing before he turns. Fred is gone. He should be right there, but in his place, there's a pile of rubble. He moves to dig him out, but only manages to find an arm (its bloody and mangled and obviously broken-) before someone grabs him. It's Percy, eyes wide, screaming at him that they can't stay there, they'll come back later.
He's shaking, more than he was before. His breath is ragged. His vision is blurry, but he can hear yelling.
People are screaming around him, but his ear is ringing, so he can't make out anyone's words. He reaches for his ear- why won't it stop ringing, damnit- and he feels nothing but sticky blood. His ear is gone.
“-rge!”
His mother is sobbing in relief when she sees him. Then she looks at his and Percy’s faces, and for the first time she notices the body held gingerly between them.
Someone grabs him. His vision is blurrier than ever now, so it takes him an embarrassing few seconds to recognize the face.
His mother.
(Selfishly, he hopes that his vision fading to black means he’s dying.)
One is the loneliest number
One is the loneliest number
One is the loneliest number that you'll ever do
When he wakes up to a bright white room, George knows he failed. The knowledge that he was so close burns deep in his chest. He was almost there, almost surrounded by the deep, comforting darkness, and now he wouldn't have the chance to try again for a while.
Glancing around the room, he finds his family. Ron is sitting by the door, looking nervous to be away from Harry and Hermione. Ginny is at the foot of his bed, sleeping next to Percy, who’s reading a book. Bill is letting Charlie sleep on his shoulder in the corner. His mother is on the right side of his bed, and his father behind her rubbing her shoulder comfortingly. The room smells like medicine, the sheets are thin, there's a bad taste in his mouth from a potion he doesn't recognize, and he can hear the nurses hurrying about outside the door.
He's alive. Something in him snaps. He doesn’t want to be here, he wants to be dead, and he's not.
Why does he have to live when Fred couldn't? Why couldn't he manage to drag his brother to safety? Why did he fail at saving his brother, and then at his own death?
He knows his family is watching, and he probably wakes Ginny and Charlie up with his sudden crying, probably startles Percy out of whatever sentence he was reading. He doesn't care, he's alive and Fred is not. He failed. He failed and he can't apologize to his twin brother for it.
He doesn't notice his mothers comforting touch until she starts humming. It's a tune he remembers from days spent sick in bed, of crawling into her bed after a nightmare, of skinning his knees.
It works fast to ground him, as it always has. With a hand still stroking his head, his mother speaks.
“George, I thought I had lost you.”
He stares at the wall, unsure if he can meet her eyes.
She continues. “I can't be more grateful I found you when I did, or…” she trails off. “It was selfish of you to try something like that.”
George looks at her then. Her eyes are tearful, full of betrayal and fear. He looks away.
“I mean, did you ever think about how I would feel? Your father? Your siblings? Fred was hard enough.” she's saying, her voice beginning to take the familiar tone of scolding. “It was beyond immature of you. It was stupid. It was horrible. Why would you do something like that to your own mother, George?”
There is a lump in his throat, and George isn't entirely sure how to apologize. Maybe, he thinks bitterly, it would have been easier on her if he had succeeded.
Movement from the corner of the room draws his attention. Bill is standing up from his chair, and Charlie is very much awake.
“Mum,” Bill says, stepping closer to her. “Don’t say that. He lost his brother, cut him some slack.”
Molly stands up sharply, her hands having long gone still. “And I lost a son, Bill.”
“He doesn't need to hear all of this on top of whatever he's already feeling. Fred was his twin.” Bill quietly says, raising his scarred hands as if she was a wild animal.
“And he is dead! My child is dead! I almost lost him last night, Bill. I was the one who found him, I was the one who kept him alive until the healers could get there. I don't care that you hate me for saying it, George was selfish for not thinking of us.”
“He nearly killed himself last night, Mum. What matters right now is him, not how ever we feel.”
His mother is quiet for a few seconds. “No. You don't see the blood, Bill. I did. I saw what he had done to himself.”
George speaks up then. “Mum- Mum I’m sorry. I didn't mean for you to find me like that.”
Everyone in the room snaps their heads towards him. Vaguely, he wonders if they had forgotten he was there.
“No.” Ginny snaps, making the room’s eyes go towards her, and George almost jumps. “He’s in a hospital bed right now, he shouldn't be making apologies.”
His father is stroking his mothers arm, frowning. Ginny stands as tall as a tree, firmly rooted in her spot.
“Ginny,” says his father, sounding like he hadn't slept at all- and he probably hadn't. “Let's not argue more, please.”
George recognizes the flash of stubbornness across his little sister's face before she even says, “No.”
“Ginny, it's alright.” George whispers. He doesn't want them all arguing because of him. (Why does he always seem to cause his family hurt?)
“It’s not.” she says, anger flashing in her eyes. “You are allowed to fuck up and be upset and mourn. You don't have to push down the negative emotions. You deserve to feel them, George.”
His mother is quiet.
“Mum,” Ginny says. “Don’t do what you did to me back in first year, please. Don’t make his grief about you.”
When he looks in her direction, his mother has tears streaming down her face, and she is clutching onto his father like he was the only thing keeping her upright. Guilt chews in his stomach, but he ignores it.
Silence coats the room heavily. It's suffocating, but George thinks it's probably better than fracturing the tender relationship his family had with one another further.
Finally, his mother shrugs Dad’s hand off of her, and leaves the room. The silence is deafening.
One is the loneliest number, much, much worse than two
One of the nurses is watching him. They always are, because he isn't allowed to be alone. He still isn't used to cracking the bathroom door open, and he feels a bit sick whenever he does.
They were opening visitation for people other than family today, so all he had to do was therapy before his room was faced with the wrath of Lee Jordan.
Life in the hospital is boring, so he hopes that Lee will sneak something in. They gave him a dull quill, but it's hard to use and has a tendency to squirt the ink in your eye. Ron brought him the stack of books from his nightstand to read, but there was only so much reading he could take before he started going nuts.
Lee will shake things up, but he will also want to talk about Fred.
The Jordan’s had only just got back to England, and George hadn't seen Lee since before-
A knock at the door pushes the thought away.
The nurse slips out as his therapist slips in. He’s a tall, large man with gentle crinkles around his eyes that reminds George a bit of his father. His hair is cut short, and his lips spread into a warm smile.
“George, hello.” he says, like he always does, raising a dark hand in a wave as he takes a seat next to George’s bed. “Anything you wish to talk about?”
As always, George stares at his hands and shakes his head.
“Well,” Dr Williams says, grabbing his quill - not an ink spitting one like George’s - from his robes. “What have you been reading?”
The conversation continues like this for a while, with Dr Williams cutting through awkward silence easily with another question about his reading.
“Your visitation opens up today, right? How are you feeling about that?”
George pauses. “Excited, I think. I haven't seen Lee in a while. His family fled during the war, so it's been a bit.”
Dr Williams nods, writing something down on the parchment in front of him. “Any nerves?”
“I guess so. I haven't seen him since before-” he cuts himself off. “He’ll want to talk about him.”
“I think that will be good for you, George.” Dr Williams says gently. “You've told me that your family doesn't talk about Fred much. I think it’ll be good for you to remember him with someone who knew him.”
“I’m in the hospital, though. And he’ll know why. I don't know how to explain to him why I did it.”
“He’s your best friend, isn't he? I don't think he’ll judge you for it. If you don't think you're ready, then we can push it back, but I believe that you'll be okay.”
…
George is reading when a nurse opens his door.
“It's almost visitation,” she says. “Are you still up for it?”
He could say no, he thinks. Then he wouldn't have to face the memory of his brother, wouldn't have to cut his trio to a duo officially, wouldn't have to look his best friend in the eyes when they both knew George had every intention of leaving him alone.
But he thinks of Dr Williams, and he summons his old courage to nod.
The new nurse glances at the one watching him from a chair in the corner. “We’ll leave you alone for 30 minutes when he visits.”
He nods, and the woman leaves to get Lee from the waiting room.
Waiting for their return is nerve wracking. His book is still open in his lap, but he ignores it in favor of staring at his sheets. It doesn't take long for the nurse to return with Lee in tow, but it feels like an eternity in hell.
(Maybe this is his punishment for surviving)
When he hears the nurse get up from her chair, he knows it's time.
He looks up and meets his best friend's eyes.
“Hey, George.” says Lee, shifting awkwardly. “Nice place you got here.”
He can't help the grin that carves its way onto his face. (Fred should be here to smile too, he thinks, and his smile disappears)
“Lee, hey. How’s your mum and dad? Your sisters?”
“They're good.”
The conversation stutters to awkward silence.
Lee clears his throat. “I’m sorry. For not being there.”
“When Fred died” goes unsaid.
“It's okay.”
“You couldn't have stopped it” goes unsaid.
“Ginny wrote to me a few days ago. I was on my way to visit when-” Lee cuts himself off. “Well, you know. She was worried about you. Said you wanted to sell the shop?”
Guilt chews inside of his chest, clawing like a wild beast up his throat. Selfish, a voice rings in his head.
“I'm sorry.”
Lee shakes his head at the apology. “No, no. I get it. I’m still a mess too. I thought we’d have more time with him. I thought I’d be able to marry him one day, once it was legal. But it's not your fault. War is fucked up.”
“I feel guilty a lot.” George admits, focusing on his sheets again. “About doing things. Because I know he can't.”
Lee is quiet for a minute. “Is that why you want to sell the shop?” he asks quietly.
Nodding, George shuts his eyes. “It was our dream. It's not fair that he can't- that he won't-”
“He would want you to, though.”
George looks up then, and sees Lees earnest face looking back at him.
“He’d want us both to move on. He’d want you to continue with the shop and hang out with me and your siblings. He’d want you to be happy. I won't make you keep the shop, but I know that's what Fred would want.”
“He’d want you to be happy too, Lee.” George says softly, watching Lee's face take a pained expression. “You deserve to live out your dream, even if it's not with him. He’d want you to move on from him. He’d want you to get a new boyfriend, to marry him when it's legal.”
“Yeah,” Lee whispers. “Maybe so.”
The silence hangs above them like a cloud, but this time, it's comfortable.
One is a number divided by two
George is let out of the hospital a week later. His mother doesn't let him out of her sight all day, and he notices her staring at the field in front of the house frowning.
His first day back is busier than expected. His father awkwardly asks if he would like to help him repair a muggle microwave, and George agrees. They both ignore the way his dad won't let him touch sharp objects. In the end, the microwave doesn’t work, but something tells George that his father doesn't mind when he wraps an arm around him to walk to dinner, almost like his father is making sure that George is still there.
At dinner, Ron piles food onto George’s plate with the practice of someone who's been doing it for years for Harry and Hermione. The seat to his left is empty, and it stays that way for the entirety of dinner.
It's quieter than usual, but not silent. Dad talks about his afternoon in the shop, and Percy lectures about some inane law. Ron mentions a date with Hermione he has planned, and Bill talks about an upcoming visit to see Fleur’s family. Ginny says she's planning Quidditch plays for the upcoming season at Hogwarts, and Charlie and Mum quietly argue about his love life. At some point, his mother looks at George, a smile soft on her face.
The table is silent. Waiting for him to speak, he realizes. He thinks of Lee, of Dr Williams, of the uncomfortable skirting around the topic of his twin brother. No one should be able to forget him, to ignore him, he thinks, and before he can think about it further, the words are leaving his mouth. “I think Fred would like the book I’m reading.”
His mother’s smile is wiped off her face quickly, replaced with wide eyes. Ginny chokes on her soup.
“It's about explosion charms,” he continues. “Fred liked those. He did most of the work on the fireworks back at Hogwarts.”
He makes eye contact with Charlie, who must see something on his face, because Charlie adds, “He sent me a good bit of letters asking for dragon scales. Begged, even. Said he was hoping they'd make them more powerful, I think? I said I shouldn't but eventually he wore me down and-” He cuts himself off after glancing at their mother, her attention having shifted to him. “Er. Never mind.”
Still, something in George glows at the story. (It’s easier to pretend Fred isn't missing out on life if he thinks about what life Fred got).
Dinner is still awkward after that, with his mum looking at Charlie like she wants to either hug him or scold him for the dragon scales story, but George stares at the empty seat next to him. They remember you, he thinks.
On his way upstairs, Charlie nudges his shoulder. “I don't think the dragon scales did much, by the way.” he says lowly, a smirk twitching at the corners of his mouth. His eyes are sad, but George is reminded of before Charlie graduated (before Fred, before his ear was cut off, before the war, before Voldemort’s return) when Charlie would play quidditch with them, when he would make games out of degnoming the garden, when he and Bill would take them swimming during summer break.
“Thank you,” he whispers to him. For remembering goes unsaid.
Percy is waiting for him upstairs.
He's sitting on the bed, which he never does. He looks up as George enters the room.
“I’m sorry.” Percy says, messing with his glasses. “I shouldn't have been an ass. I shouldn't have called you-” he stops, Fred’s name dying on his lips. “I should have been better. I shouldn't have left the family for my job, shouldn't have sided with the Ministry. I’m trying so hard to make it up to you and Mum and Dad and everyone, but I can't make it up to Fred anymore and-”
“Percy,” George says, frowning, taking a step closer to the bed from where he was frozen in the doorway. “Cut it out.”
Percy shakes his head, staring at him with a pleading expression. “No, no, I killed him. I failed, George. You were right. And then I nearly killed you, too. I almost lost you. And- and I understand you're upset because Fred is dead and I was an ass and no one talked about him because we were all grieving. I get why you tried to…” he trails off at this.
He stood up somewhere in the vomit of words, and George has inched forwards again.
“It wasn't your fault.” Percy’s mouth opens to refute this, his eyebrows already furrowing, but George stops him. “It was fucked of me to say that. Ron was pretty pissed at me. You didn't cause it. I didn't cause it. No one caused it. Shit happens. War is shit. Voldemort was shit.”
He’s reached Percy now. Sitting down on the bed gently, right at the edge, he stares at the wall and fidgets with his wrist, where the scabs of his attempt are hidden by long sleeves.
“Don't do that, George. You’ll open them again.” his older brother says, looking like the wind has been taken out of him. He doesn't slump - Percy always stands up straight - but his face has relaxed from its usual pompous expression to a gentler one.
George stops, switches to messing with his knuckles, rubbing a thumb over them over and over again. “I miss him. All the time. It feels unfair that everyone else is moving on, that no one talks about him. It's been months, and I’m still stuck on the sound of that wall crumpling behind me. But he was my twin. Some selfish part of me believes that I’m the only one who should grieve, but it's not right. He was more than that. He deserves more than that.”
Percy sits down next to him then. His ears are going pink, his eyes cast downwards, a telltale sign that he's about to cry. “It took me a while to realize I needed to mourn him. I think the family was caught up in each other’s grief that we forgot about our own.”
“In my grief, you mean.”
“No,” Percy shakes his head. “Not just you. Mum was a mess too. I think you were out of it too much to notice, but she checked up on all of us at night. Every night. She still does sometimes. That's why she found you that night, I think. And Dad doesn't like going home as much anymore. Not that he's said anything, but he stays later at work and he takes forever to pack up. Ron has been staying with Harry and Hermione, Merlin knows those three are traumatized, and I know he has nightmares. I’ve heard him crying with them a few times. Ginny stole his old jumper and wears it to bed. Bill has a photo of him in his wallet now, I’ve caught him looking at it. Fleur and I write sometimes; she says he won't go to bed until the early morning, and he just cries. Charlie worked harder to cope with it, he has a friend in the dragon reserve I write to.”
George relaxes, feeling like a marionette who's strings have been cut as he flops back onto his pillow. Percy stays as he is.
“I grieved, too. Kind of. Mostly, I tried to make sure no one went insane. I’ve been keeping up with everyone's friends, minus Mum and Dad. I thought that way, no one would go over the deep end. But then we fought and I got caught up in my own ass and I’m so sorry.”
Something in Percy seems to break then, and his shoulders go tenser that before and a sob escapes him. He’s never been a quiet crier, and this is obvious as he breaks down.
“I’m sorry, George.” he says over and over. “I’m sorry.”
George kicks him lightly. “Hey, Perce. It's not your fault. I’m sorry, too.”
Something in his stomach squirms at the sound of his older brother’s sobs (they sound so similar to how they did hunched over Fred’s body), but George knows Percy needs this. So he sits up, wraps an arm around his brother, and sits there patiently for as long as he needs.
It's what Percy did for him.
…
At some point, Percy fell asleep. He lay on George’s bed, still stiff because he was always stiff.
He’s sure he dozed off at some point too, but the watch on his wrist says it's only seven.
It's peaceful in a way.
Or it is until the door creaks. He reaches towards his wand - where it should be at least, he isn't allowed unsupervised magic until Dr Williams clears him - and he moves to shield Percy.
When it opens fully, he sees the exhausted face of his mother. “Oh,” she whispers. “I thought you two were still asleep.”
“Percy is.” George tells her, just as quiet, instead of asking her what she's doing.
She peers over him, almost like she wants to make sure Percy is there himself. He supposes she does.
“I fell asleep earlier,” he adds, not quite knowing what to say.
“Yes, I came in to check on you after I realized Percy wasn't in his room. I saw you both asleep. I hope I didn't wake you?”
He shakes his head. Then, his eyes land on something she's holding in her hands.
She must notice his staring, because her mouth melts into a soft smile. Holding up two battered stuffed animals, she says, “I figured you still wanted them.”
Neither of them mention she must have found them the night George attempted, that she probably had to scrub blood off of them as he healed in a mental hospital.
“Thank you,” he says, holding his hand out for them. They're soft to the touch, which only confirms the hours his mum probably spent washing them.
“I love you,” she responds. “Goodnight, sweetheart.”
…
The last of his visitors that night is Ron. With fists pressing into his thighs, Ron enters. He glances at Percy, and George is prepared to explain, but Ron doesn't ask.
“Hermione helped me fill out paperwork for the shop.” he blurts.
Whatever George had expected him to say, it wasn't that.
Ron doesn't wait for him to respond. “I know you said you wanted to sell the shop, but you and Fred worked for years to make it, and I know it made you both happy. So I kind of forged your signature with Hermione and we turned in paperwork to keep the shop and transfer part of it to me so I could help you more.”
“You forged my signature?” is the first thing that escapes him. “Holy shit, Ron!”
And then he's laughing. Laughing like he hasn't in months, like he hasn't since before Fred died. Ron grins sheepishly. (He shouldn't be laughing this hard without him, but he is.)
“I did, yeah. Hermione and Harry were very helpful. Not the first illegal thing we’ve done anyway. Don’t tell Mum.”
Percy grunts from beside him. That only makes George laugh harder.
Sitting up and blinking harshly, Percy scowls at both of them. “Can't you two be any quieter?” he says irritably, and flops back over to fall asleep again.
When George looks at Ron again, his hands have relaxed. “The shop opens again in two weeks. If it's too much, I’ll handle it. But I thought you and Fred’s dream should be saved. It's yours too, you know? You should live it.”
As Ron turns to leave, George smiles a bit. Right before he shuts the door, George calls out, as quietly as possible as to not wake Percy again, “Thank you.”
…
(Two weeks from then, at the second grand opening, George is there cutting the ribbon. Lee is smiling in the crowd, and Ron is standing to George’s right. He thinks he feels a presence to his left, but nothing is there when he looks. Still, he knows that Fred was there, offering congratulations.)
(His arms have healed by then. But a week after that, he’s cleared to do magic alone again.)
(He doesn't go in the shop everyday, and his parents don't let him move out again until Dr Williams agrees it's a good idea, but Ron makes him go at least once a week. The rest of the days, Harry and Ron oversee everything.)
(On the anniversary of Fred’s death, Charlie comes home. He sits in George’s room with him while Percy reads in the corner, and he talks quietly about Fred learning to fly on a broom. He slips out that night to lay on the rock at Fred’s spot. He doesn't put his feet in the water, but he breathes in the fresh air and cries.)
(It takes four years to ask Angelina out. She laughs and calls him an idiot for keeping her waiting, but she agrees. It takes three years after that for them to get married. He leaves the best man spot open. When his first child is born, a son, George kisses his forehead and whispers, “I love you,” and a presence to his left whispers it back.)
One
One is the loneliest number