Lost and Found

Lost

It had all begun with ice. This nightmare some called 'life' had become unbearable since that moment, that day. The day he lost half of everything worth living for and the rest was tarnished; burnt and scarred and painful.

The Battle of Hogwarts.

George had fought with everything he had and everything he didn't; if that was possible. He had fought with his life and soul. It seemed he was winning his battle; a small fight among many others, all raging at once. But then ice had rained down on him, in such freezing, numbing quantity he had looked around for the source. He found none. The ice wasn't real. Yet it was so cold it burned and his insides were screaming. He felt like his heart was being torn from his chest. And the pain was unbearable. Fire burning in his veins... It stopped, And that was when he realised what had happened; he knew what had happened, yet he couldn't say how he knew. He heard, but didn't really hear, Voldemort's voice echoing over the grounds and through the thick stone walls. Suddenly he didn't care about the Death Eaters or the fight or anything except him. Except Fred. George was running through the many hallways and doors, not knowing where he was going and knowing the way, simultaneously. Somehow he found his way to the Great Hall. That was when he saw him. Fred. He was being carried in on a stretcher, unmoving, eyes open and glazed. Lifeless. Gone. Dead. Fred Weasley was dead. George felt something break inside him, his heart was being crushed. His world came crashing down around him.

Dead.

The pain never really went away. And although George knew that many people were affected by the death of his brother, his twin, he still couldn't drag himself out of the black pit of despair that was gnawing away at his very soul. He didn't really want to live anymore. The world seemed to have lost it's colour, another thing that had died with Fred. Along with George's happiness and jokes, his will to live, his everything, almost. Just his body was left behind. That's what it felt like, an enormous empty hole that grew bigger with every passing day and more painful each minute. Apparently, time healed all wounds. But this wasn't a wound, it was a monster and monsters can haunt you forever.

George couldn't bear to look in the mirror. He would just see himself and that's what he hated. He wasn't 'the twins' or 'the Weasley twins', he wasn't 'Fred and George' or 'Gred and Forge'. He was just George, because Fred was gone. The face that looked so much like Fred could never be Fred, because Fred was... dead. George could barely bring himself to think that word. It still felt so unreal, like Fred was just going to jump out from somewhere and say: "Ha! Fooled you!" and laugh at the looks on their faces. But that was never going to happen, as much as George wished it would.

If George had stood in front of the Mirror of Erised, reflected back at him would be the spitting image of himself, but with both ears and a glint in his eyes that smiled and had a small shine of cunning, as if he had just pulled off some hilarious prank. Fred, in other words.

It hurt so much to be without his twin.

George barely talked anymore, barely ate, barely moved. He cried himself to sleep every night, though he would never admit it. He just wanted to die. Maybe then he could see Fred again. Who knew? Who knew what came after death? George descended so deep in despair to the point that he hurt himself. His arms had become littered with cuts and scratches, soon to accompany the scars on his soul. He even tried to kill himself once. With the Killing Curse, but it hadn't worked because some tiny part of him was clinging to life and so the spell was rendered useless and just set fire to the floor. This tiny part of George was all that kept him going. Perhaps it was the thought of his family going without either of the twins, or perhaps it was something else. But whatever it was, it kept him alive.

Found

George heard voices in the kitchen, one was his mother's, the other he recognised, but could not say where from. Suddenly, He heard the noise of people coming up the stairs and his door opened. Angelina Johnson stepped into the room. George did a double take. What was she doing here? The girl he had known off the Quidditch pitch, the girl his best friend, Lee Jordan, had crushed on for all seven of his years at Hogwarts. Fred's date to the Yule Ball. Fred's short-term girlfriend. George recalled she was a few months older than him. He hadn't heard from her since he and Fred had left halfway through their seventh year, though he had seen her in Diagon Alley once or twice when he was running the shop. George snapped back to reality.

"Angelina?" He asked incredulously, his voice hoarse from lack of use.

"Hey," she said. "I heard about... Oh Merlin, George, your arms!" She was staring at the scars and bruises on his arms. He ignored her gaze.

"Did you do that?" She asked quietly. George ignored her again.

"What are you doing here?" He said without much interest. He supposed it was a pity visit, like he'd got from a few of his mum's friends.

"George, look at yourself, you're a mess. You need help-" George began to interrupt her, "Even if you don't want it." She cut across him before he even said the first letter.

"You're not talking to your family, or even Harry or Hermione. I don't care what you want, but I do care about you and you need to talk to someone."

"You care about me?"

"Yes! You're my friend George, still, even if we haven't talked properly for years and seeing as you obviously don't care about yourself at the moment, someone's got to. I want to help. "

"I don't think you can."

"I can try, George. I swear to you, I'm going to make you smile again, at least once and for real, even if it takes me ten bloody years. So just talk to me."

Even though she barely got a word out of him, she kept coming back. George wondered why, but it made him feel a bit better that she was there at all; that she cared about him despite the long period of time they'd been apart. Slowly, over many months, George began to open up more to Angelina and it was obvious she was having a good effect. He began to eat properly again and interact and talk more with his family. Each time Angelina came over to the Burrow Mrs Weasley would hug her and thank her for everything she'd done. One time Mrs Weasley whispered to Angelina: "If it weren't for you, I don't think George would still be here." It was horrible to think about what could have happened. But thankfully it hadn't.

George wasn't quite back to normal yet, despite seeming more willing to live, he still wasn't happy and it wasn't looking like that was going to change. Even with Angelina, George was still very depressed. He would still cry most nights and occasionally hurt himself.

"I don't want to be just George, I don't want to be the one left behind but I am. And there's nothing I can do to change that, that's what hurts most. That I can't bring him back. And all the what ifs. Sometimes what hurts most is the image in your head of how it could be. But it isn't that way. It never is. I suppose I just need to get over it." He would say, choking back tears, and she would say;

"Well, maybe that's because you've painted the picture inside and not outside. I'm going to help you make the picture real."

George began to think about Angelina more and more often. He found himself thinking about her as he lay in bed at night and looking forward to her visits. He even dreamt about her once or twice. He felt a little twinge each time she left. George didn't really understand why though. He hadn't felt like this for a long, long time.

Little over a year since Angelina came into his life again, and a year and a half since Fred's death, George reopened his shop. It made him feel happy and melancholy all at once and he felt memories stir in the very back of his mind. The party was huge. So many people had turned up for the Grand Reopening of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. Not just his family and Angelina and a few other friends, but lots of customers and a few other shop owners. They weren't just there to buy his products, but to welcome him back. A few people patted him on the shoulder and said something along the lines of "Welcome back," or "Sorry for your loss,". George felt a little overwhelmed with people and memories of Fred. So he stepped out the back for a little fresh air.

It was winter, and freezing cold. The clouds were a depressing shade of grey and the sun was hidden behind them. George shivered. He glanced around the misty back-alleys and looked up to the sky. He squinted and saw black blobs drifting towards him from the sky. Perhaps he would go back inside, it was warmer there and there were no ominous flying black things. George turned to step inside, but stopped.

Ice.

Ice. That couldn't be right. The only time he'd felt the ice was Fred's death and one other time. He struggled to remember where. Suddenly, it came back to him. The Hogwarts Express at the beginning of his fifth year. But why? Dementors, said a little voice inside his head. The Dementors were on the train that day, searching for Sirius Black. Of course, the black blobs in the sky. He twirled to face them and tried to think of a happy memory. "Expecto Patronum!" He cried, pointing his wand at that. Nothing came out. Not even a wisp of silvery light. He tried again. Nothing. Now they were upon him, his insides felt frozen, he felt every little drop of joy fade away into oblivion. He saw the Battle of Hogwarts and Fred's body and fresh cuts on his arms and he was aware of someone half sobbing, half screaming in the distance. George snapped back to reality, the memories still playing and replaying in his head. He was lying on the ground. He was the one screaming. The Dementor clasped on scabby, decaying hand to his face and with the other it lowered its hood. No. No. George struggled around on the ground, trying to break free. It was going to perform the Kiss. Nothing else mattered, he had to get away. But he was weak, to weak. The other Dementors emerged and began to drain him even further. The edges of his vision were black. The disgusting, faceless creatures were going to be the last thing he saw. He heard the door slam open and a girls voice cry: "Expecto Patronum!"

Then everything went dark.

George awoke to an unfamiliar face leaning over him. Wait, what? Where was he? What had happened? He tried to sit up. "Whoa, there, you just nearly had you're soul sucked out. Lay. Down." Said the face. The Dementor attack came flooding back to him and as he groggily gazed around the room he realised he was in a hospital. He must be in St Mungo's. So the face had to be a Healer.

"Eat this," said the Healer shoving some chocolate in his hand. George took a bite and immediately felt warmth spread through him, melting any remaining ice. He ate the rest and felt almost back to normal.

"Can I get up now?" He asked.

"Sure, yeah, whatever, you can go now if you want. Your treatments over." The healer stated grumpily. George got up, he felt a little wobbly but otherwise fine. He walked over to the door opened it and walked through. He had barely taken a step when Angelina jumped up and threw her arms around him, screaming; "George Weasley, you scared me half to death!"

And then she kissed him.

When they finally broke apart, Angelina giggled.

"I've been wanting to do that for ages," She said. Then she gave a cheeky smile. "That was better than I though it would be." George smiled tooand gave a gasp of mock-offence.

"I'm offended," he said with a smile in his voice. "I really am." And then he laughed. Angelina hugged him tightly.

"I told you I'd make you smile again," she exclaimed, joyously, "I'm just glad it didn't take ten bloody years." Then she leaned closer to him and whispered in his ear. "I love you, George Weasley." And George, who had finally realised why he kept thinking about her and what exactly he was feeling towards her, kissed her on the cheek and whispered:

"I love you too, Angelina Johnson."