A/N: Written for the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition
Round 8
Prompt: K-drama - Oh My Ghost. Theme - a relationship of any sort between a ghost and a human.
Word count: 1,730
I'm concerned about him. He's been sitting alone in his room every day since - since. Door locked, no Alohamora could open it. Not even Mum's tears and Dad's heart-numbing pleas could open it. They were brilliant at magic and brilliantly stubborn, the two of them, so I guess it figures.
I went to their - I mean, to his room three days ago. George has been with us ever since the battle, I reckon it's harder for him to go back to Diagon Alley than it is for the rest of us. I don't even know why I went, I guess my feet wanted to be there. And so did my heart, which is shattered, jaded, broken to little ugly pieces, and it's Hermione who's left to do the mending. Without her, I swear I would have lost myself. Like George.
I heard him talking, whispering mostly. My fist frozen in the air, I could not move so I listened, my forehead pressed to the cold door of his room. He was talking as if Fred was still there, he was reminiscing all their good times together as if Fred was just by his side, ready to laugh along with him as they did every minute and every second of their intertwined existences. But Fred is not here anymore, he is not and nothing can bring him back! Nothing can.
I asked Hermione, begged her, to find a solution - as she always did. But there is nothing that can bring a soul back, nothing. Except - well, except a Hallow, but Harry crushed it and threw it away. It is not sane to hold on to those who are no longer with us, he said. And maybe he's right, I don't know and I don't want to think about it. All I want is my brother.
Yesterday, I tried again. The same uneasy steps up and up, the same cracks in the floor I've grown up to. The same cracks in my soul, maybe. Again I went there unfocused, wishing to simply see him. Only a bit, only for a moment, so that he knows I'm here for him. So that he remembers. And once more I heard him speak as though another person was there, and I hoped - I prayed even, that maybe it was Bill or even Charlie.
Today I'll knock no matter what. I have to know, I need to know! Is my brother alright? Is he still sane? I guess we're all turning mad with pain and sorrow, but at least we have each other for support and comfort. Ginny has Harry, he's not left her out of his sight ever since he'd started feeling well enough to stand up. I've got Hermione and Merlin knows what I would've done without her. She's brilliant, she is. She cures me each day and I hope that I'm doing the same for her. Bill's got Fleur, Mum and Dad have always got each other, the way Fred and George used to.
I wipe a swollen tear from my cheek and breathe in hard. Inhale, exhale. I feel my feet trembling as they ascend slow, torturously slow, as though trying to prolong the moment infinitely. Time's never been a friend of mine, that much I know.
Knock-knock, my bruised knuckles go against the door, but silence is all they receive. The crude, heavy silence stretched out through the hallway, crawling from underneath the door and spreading its merciless tentacles from the ceiling to the floor. It is deafening and all I want is to sit down and cry, rock back and forth against the dusty old rug and close my eyes to make everything disappear.
I'm startled to hear a sound, faint as it may be. Coughing twice to regain my voice, I try to seize the moment and almost whisper, "George?"
Silence. I'll go mad, I swear.
Again, "George?"
"He's not here," he croaks from the other side.
"Alright, but can you tell him that his brother Ron is looking for him, as well as his family and that we're all desperate to know that he's still breathing in there?" I made a sad attempt at coaxing him out of his lair with passive-aggressive humour.
A sob. Oh, now I've done it. I nearly turn to crawl back to my room and drench in well deserved self-pity, when the door creaks open. True Gryffindor that I am, I insert my toe between the door and its frame, ready to sacrifice one leg in order to get in, if it came to it.
Luckily, it wasn't necessary, as he allowed me to step in unharmed. Closed air, piles upon piles of rubbish and chaos is what I found inside. I shuddered to think what Mum would say and then, suddenly, tears choked me once more. It was unbearable to witness my brother like this, so down and defeated. So unlike him.
I closed the distance between us and pulled him to me, craddled in my scarred arms. He fell unwillingly, but did not complain. I could hear his heart beat as none of us spoke, alone in the darkened room.
Maybe decades passed before we let go of each other, sad blue eyes staring into sad blue eyes. I saw the freckles on my tired face mirrored on his, the same wild ginger mop of hair plastered to his forehead. I almost smiled. We were brothers, there was no denying, and brothers always helped each other.
"Who were you talking to?" I broke the ice, taking a step backwards as though to give him space.
Silence.
"To Fred," he said and my heart froze.
"George?" My voice trembled and I felt my face blanche.
"I said I was talking to Fred," he pressed on every word and turned his back to me. "He's been here," my brother murmured, setting himself on one of the bunk beds crammed inside the room and covered his eyes with blistered palms.
"What do you mean?" I asked, shaken by the thought. The Fred I knew would never choose to stay lingering between two worlds, a mere shadow of the man he was.
"I mean," he almost growled, anger filling his voice, "that he's been here. Talking to me. Whispering that I should not give up. Haunting me," George trailed off and I was afraid I might faint, my heart was beating faster than ever.
"Does this mean - does this mean he's chosen to become a ghost, Georgie?" I used his pet-name from childhood absentmindedly, but I did not care. I was so afraid, I needed my big brother...
"You know, I doubt it," he answered, finally looking up, finally looking me in the eye. "He's looking after me one last time, is what I reckon." He smiled sadly, but nevertheless he smiled.
I sat next to him, one arm around his shoulders and I held him for awhile. I held him tight, so he knew I was there, that I will always be there for him.
"Thanks," George mouthed and laid his head against my shoulder.
"No problem," I breathed.
We sat there in silence, thinking of things we've had and things we've lost, one brother and another. Unexpectedly, the cold and the dark turned into warmth and light, as though they were radiating from inside us. My heart felt easier, my wounds hurt less. It was a feeling as no other and I thought "Is this love?". Dumbledore always talked about love being the most powerful magic. I sighed as a clumsy smile crept upon my lips.
"It's him, Ronnie," George exhaled.
My head snapped to his side. Him? Fred? Where was he?
"Can you feel him?" George asked excitedly.
"Feel what?" I rapidly retorted, mostly panicked, half disturbed.
"The warmth, you prat!" He pointed out and I believed him mad. "It's Fred - all this warmth, this light, this feeling of content, it's all Fred!" George grinned.
I tried to make peace with such a thought, but before I could open my mouth again, I felt myself enveloped in such a dizzying light, I thought I might be dead. It was bliss, a feeling akin to pure happiness.
"It's Fred…," I heard George whisper once again and I finally understood.
"Fred…," I cried. I wanted to say that I missed him dearly, that I loved him so much, that we've all been walking around without a vital part of us since he's been gone, but somehow I felt he knew. There was no need for words. We basked in the feeling, holding on to our brother as much as we could. One last time.
Slowly, the light died, but the warmth remained. I blinked, trying to adjust to the change inside the small interior.
"He's saying goodbye," George murmured.
"How do you know?" I looked at him, but his gaze was somewhere else, somewhere a great distance from this world.
"I know. Goodbye, Freddie," he barely made out the words. "I love you," George choked.
We were both crying, hanging on to each other - him, pulling at the collar of my shirt as I held him tighter than ever to my chest. I outgrew them both the summer before so now I found I could just place my chin on the top of his head and cry and cry and cry.
It was hours before we recomposed, hours of shared pained and sorrow. Finally, I helped him step out, supported him every step until we reached the landing and sat him down on a kitchen chair. Mum fussed around him, crying, showering him in kisses, as the family rejoiced. I backed into one of the corners, watching them from afar, feeling relived that my brother was with us again. It's where Hermione found me, as she twined her fingers through mine. No questions asked, she knows me well. She knows me inside out, I'd say, knows how to deal with me in any mood or shape or space.
"Thanks," I told her as I squeezed her hand and she squeezed mine back. Maybe all was going to be well, after all. Who could tell.