Hey everyone! I decided to modify my story Pull Yourself Together, as I wrote it three years ago and my writing skills have developed immensely. Enjoy.
Fred and George. Fred and George.
George. Just George.
"George! George, get up!" Molly Weasley stomped up the stairs, her weight making the already wizened wood creak. Although Molly Weasley had lost weight since the death of her fourth son, she was still rather plump. Arthur, her beloved husband, hadn't the inspiration to fix the stairs, so they creaked anyway. George, however, was prepared for the lecture. He groaned, covering his head with the pillow, blocking out her stomps on the stairs. It also softened the smell of the room a little. It smelt of body odors, unwashed clothing, and rotting food. The creaking of the stairs stopped, and his mother knocked softly on the door. He ignored it. Maybe she would go away if she thought he was still sleeping. Wrong. Carefully, she cracked his bedroom door open, peeking in. He heard her sharp intake of breath at the sight of the room; clothes were all over George's floor – some of which she was positive she saw Fred wearing at one point – empty cardboard boxes, waiting-to-be-tested products that would never be tested. "George?" she whispered, hardly daring to open the door wider. George groaned again and rolled over in his bed so that he was facing away from her, the pillow still covering his head. Again, he expected a lecture. None came. His mother just sighed heavily and stepped her way over the rubbish on the floor until she got to George's bed. She sat down on it, causing the springs to whine and the bed to sizably sink. She patted his leg with her small hand, waiting for him to acknowledge her.
"Mum," he mumbled into the pillow. Before he spoke again, he removed it, showing his face. He was heavily unshaven; his red beard was strange to look at. Neither George nor Fred had ever grown beards. "I'm not ready to get up yet." He looked at her. She was old, and getting older by the second. Heavy bags were under her eyes, her skin was pale and her eyes were permanently sad and her beautifully curly red hair had slivers of gray in it. It didn't suit her. It almost scared him to see his mother looking so old.
"George, dear, I think it's unhealthy for you to, well, stay in here all of the time." She said the sentence rather quickly, like it made her uncomfortable to evaluate her son's life choices. Though, she continued. "You need to get out! Remember? Your shop? Fred wouldn't want you to be like this –" George quickly shut his eyes at the mention of his brother's name. Those days, even the mention of Fred was enough to send George into hysterics. Of course he remembered the shop. Of course he didn't think Fred would want this. She was surely taking Fred's death in stride. Or, at least, it seemed to be that way. "Alright, sweetheart?" Molly finished, bringing George back to the present. He half-heartedly mumbled a 'yes' to shut her up.
"I miss him, Mum," he said, his voice almost whining, like that would bring Fred back.
"Oh, George, I know. I know you do. I miss him too." She replied, laying her hand on his leg. Through the thin blanket and his simple pajama pants, he could feel the coldness against his warm leg. Her hands were icy cold. "But we can't wallow in sadness forever. Fred is in a better place, we all know that. And you can't act like you're the only one who misses him. Look at Percy," she paused as she seemed to be trying to choose her words carefully, as if one wrong thing would make George snap. "It was almost his fault – at least he thinks it is – and he's got a girlfriend. He's laughing again, Georgie." That got George's attention.
"Percy? Prefect Percy? Got a girlfriend?" he asked, almost smiling. "Well, good job old Percy. What's her name? What's she look like?" Molly smiled at this, her heart singing at George's slight smile in months.
"Percy's bringing her over for dinner, which is why," she said, standing up rather quickly, propping her hands on her plump hips, "you should get cleaned up and straighten this room, for goodness sakes." She smiled again, warmly, at George and cautiously stepped over the rubbish and stumbled out of George's room, closing the door shut.
George shut his eyes, pressing the balls of his hands into them, applying the simplest amount of pressure. When he began to see stars, he dropped his hands onto his chest, sighing. Every time he shut his eyes he saw Fred; who would never come into the kitchen again and demand to know what was for supper, who would never sit down at the dinner table and make it lively, who would never test products, who would never walk into the store with George again, who would never come home –
Come on, George. He heard Fred talking to him, deep inside his own mind. It happened every once in a while, even though Fred was gone, George still heard his voice sometimes. Get up, Georgie! George groaned, shook his head to clear it and sat up in bed. After a few seconds, he pushed himself to his feet, trying to ignore the mess as he stepped over everything, stumbling to the bathroom. He hadn't been out of his bed in days, he'd almost forgotten what it was like to walk. You're ridiculous, George. In the bathroom, he stood in front of the mirror. He was surprised and horrified to see that he didn't even look like himself anymore, but a homeless man. The beard frightened him, even though he'd felt it on his face he'd never took the time to look at it. He passed his hand over it once, twice, three times, feeling it, as if checking to see if it was even real. Fred would be ashamed. George peeked out of the bathroom and looked at his bedroom door rather quickly, as if expecting Fred to pop in and make everything okay, but of course, it didn't happen. It never did. He turned back to the mirror, and somewhere behind the stubble and the bags under his eyes and the shallow, hungry look in his face, there was a George, waiting to be found again. And there was also a Fred, oh yes, Fred was there too. And he always would be.
George shook his head, chuckling sadly at the notion of always seeing Fred whenever he looked into a mirror. He bent down, turning on the faucet and splashing some cold water onto his face. He grabbed his shaving cream can and slapped some on and gently began shaving the animal off of his face. He would've used magic some months before, but magic just frustrated him those days. Sometimes he found himself cursing the God who made him a wizard. He rinsed his face, looking into the mirror. His hair was slightly longer, but still as red as ever. When he exited the bathroom, stepping, once again, over the rubble and stopping at his closet, where a few articles of clean clothing still hung. A nice, light purple button down shirt caught his eye. In record time, he pulled his shirt off and slid that one on, buttoning it from top to bottom. He pulled down a pair of corduroys and slid those on easily. They were even a bit too big for him. Must've been Fred's. Fred was always a little chubbier. Feeling yet another pang of remorse, he walked to the door, ruffled his hair and turned the knob. Then, taking a deep breath, he walked out of his room and down the stairs to whomever was waiting.
When he got down to the kitchen, he saw his mother leaning over the stove, flipping pieces of bacon. He had half a mind to scare her, like he and Fred used to by Apparating every few feet. He smiled a little at the memory, then just decided to leave his mother alone. He walked quietly past her into the dining room, where Ginny, Harry, Ron and Hermione were sitting. He jumped when he saw them, almost wanting to run back to his room. So many people. Instead, he stood there, hands shoved into his pockets, waiting for someone to notice him. He certainly wasn't going to make himself known. After a few seconds, Ginny glanced at him. She jumped up, grinning widely, her long red hair pulled back. She hugged George tightly, the top of her head just reaching his chin as he hugged her back. "Good morning, Georgie!" she said, letting go of him. She was smiling so happily that it would've been wrong for George not to smile back, at least a little. So, he did. He nodded at Ron, Harry and Hermione, all of whom stayed seated, though Ron was holding back a smile.
"I was going to ask you if you wanted me to open the shop today," Ron began, shrugging his shoulders casually, "But since you're awake now… do you want to open it together?" He put his arm around Hermione, who had both of her elbows propped on the table. It looked rather uncomfortable. Then again, Hermione had always been weird.
"Uh," George began, feeling a little overwhelmed with the idea of opening the shop so soon after just getting back up. "Well, sure. I guess we'll open up the shop today, yeah." He nodded, although slowly.
"Good. We'll eat breakfast and let Mum know we're going." Ron said with a slight authority that George hated. Prefect. Just then, before George could even think of anything snarky to say, Molly came in, carrying a plate full of bacon and a bowl full of sausages.
"Up and about, George?" she asked cheerfully, setting down the dishes with finality. He only nodded, feeling very lost. How could they all be over Fred already? Fred was gone, yes, he knew that, but to just forget about him and move on like he'd been nothing but a speed bump in life was unthinkable. Fred was so much more. He was a friend, a brother, a son, a twin, a partner in crime. And he was gone. Every time George thought about it he just wanted to break something in anger. Life wasn't fair. Why did they have to take Fred away from him? Nothing was ever easy, but it seemed that when Fred was by his side, it softened the blow. Now, he would have to face life alone.
"How can you all just forget about Fred?" George blurted suddenly, without thinking. But he didn't stop there. "You all just pretend he was never here. How… how can you go on with life without Fred? He was our brother. And your son," he gestured to Molly, feeling the tears well in his eyes. "You've all just forgotten he was ever here – "
"George!" shouted Ron, noticing Molly's distress as George rambled. "None of us have forgotten Fred," he said, getting up from the table and clenching his fists. "We've all just accepted the fact that he's dead and he's in a better place. We're not wallowing in our sadness, staying in bed all day like some gits, because we know we can't do anything about it." Hermione pulled on the hem of Ron's shirt slightly, as if trying to get him to sit back down, but he ignored her, eyes wild.
George snapped. "You have no idea what it's like to lose half of yourself, do you Ron?" he shouted back, feeling much like punching his little brother. "You will never know. I have a right to be wallowing!" And with that, George stormed out of the kitchen, ripped the front door open and slammed it shut, shaking the house and everyone in it.