Finding Happiness, a harry potter fanfic

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.

WARNING. SEVERE PLOT SPOILERS TO DEATHLY HALLOWS COINTAINED ON THIS PAGE. YOU ALL HAVE BEEN WARNED.

SPOILERS

Finding Happiness

You have permitted your friends to die for you rather than face me yourself.

George knew these words were wrong. He shouldn't be remembering them, especially now, when everything was . . . well, it wasn't perfect, but it was life. He and Percy had made some sort of meaning out of the shreds Fred had left behind.

"You leaving early?"

George looked up from the toast he'd been staring at. "Huh? Oh, yeah. We're receiving more of the ingredients to make those new quills . . ." He still saw 'we' as if Fred was running the business with him, and in all respects, his twin still was. They had not changed their plans at all—or, that is to say, Fred's plans. Fred had always been in charge, after all.

Percy nodded. "I'd better be off, too. I promised Bill I'd help him shop for Victoire's school things before the start of term."

"I remember first year," George said wistfully. He swallowed hard. Sometimes Fred consumed him, rendering unable to think of anything else, as had happened now. Even when they had been younger Fred had been the leader. Everyone thought of them as Fred and George, George and Fred, the inseparable, identical pair of twins. Only a few people in the world, like their family members and Lee Jordan, actually knew that it had been Fred behind most of the decision-making.

Not to say that George had only tagged along. He'd had plenty of ideas himself, maybe even more than Fred. But it was Fred who had always executed them in the end.

"Yeah, me too." Percy bit off his piece of toast and chewed quickly, gathering up the Daily Prophet so it sat neatly on the table. "I only hope Victoire doesn't end up falling in the lake, like I did."

This faintly amused George. Not much did these days. "You fell in the lake your first year? I didn't know that."

Percy grinned back. "Why on earth would I confess that to you two, after all the—" He stopped short. It had been thirteen years since Fred's death, but even Percy, who Fred had been sharing a flat with all these years, still thought of them as a pair.

"Yeah, that would have been pretty dense on your part," George agreed, trying to diminish the tension.

"I'm heading out now. I'll see you tonight."

"Tell Fleur and Victoire I said hello. And send Bill my love," George joked, blowing a kiss. Percy nodded, then disappeared into the fireplace, headed for Bill's house.

George closed his eyes when he left, and his hand unconsciously went to the hole where his ear ought to be. It was bittersweet, that Bill had named his child Victoire. Victory, it was supposed to mean. And yes, they had been victorious. But they had lost so much at the same time. What about Fred, who had died that night? What about George, who had lost half—no, more than half, so much more than half—of his soul?

If you continue to resist me, you will all die, one by one.

Sometimes at night Percy had to shake George awake, trying to get him to stop muttering the same haunting mantra: "One by one, one by one . . . one by one . . ." But it was only one, and there was no other by it. George was alive and Fred was not.

The clock struck seven in the morning, and George removed his hand from the hole in his ear, upset that he had been dwelling on such depressing matters again. Before Fred had died the two of them had found happiness even in the darkest of times. When Umbridge had taken over they had revolted and run off; when George had lost his ear they had made jokes and blown it off; when there was no word on Harry, Ron, or Hermione and all hope seemed to be lost, they had broadcasted from Lee Jordan's station. George couldn't find that irrepressible happiness now. He was lucky to ever be happy at all.

"Gotta stop," he murmured to himself. He meant thinking about Fred; he needed to stop it and keep moving. That was all that distracted him from the loss of his twin, was moving as fast as he could, watching as the business expanded and he grew richer and richer with money he would never spend.

Just then the door knocked. George frowned. Who would be visiting him from the door? Usually people just used the Floo Network these days, without even bothering to warn about their arrivals.

He stood up and answered the door. "Angelina," he said, his eyebrows rising in surprise when he saw her standing there. "So good to see you."

For a moment her eyes flicked to his missing ear. He did not miss the glance, but he was not at all offended by it; she had not seen him since their sixth year at Hogwarts.

"Hello, George," she said, leaning in to hug him in greeting. "Can I come in?"

He nodded numbly. The last he'd seen of Angelina she'd been fancying Fred, even going to the Yule Ball with him that year of the tournament. He wondered what had brought her here now. Hopefully it was not an overdue sentiment on how sorry she was for his loss.

"Of course," he said, motioning for her to enter. He pointed to the table. "Toast?"

She shook her head. "No, thanks."

"So, what brings you to my humble abode?" he asked cheerfully, trying to mask the pain he had been engulfed by only moments before.

Angelina shrugged at him. "I've been traveling the world, and now that I'm back I'm catching up with everyone. Did you know that Lee Jordan has five children?"

George laughed. "Either fortunately or unfortunately for me, I'm godfather to all five."

She made a face. "Can't say he wouldn't make a good father, though. He was always a good friend. Even if he was a little . . ."

"Mischievous? Daring? Impertinent?"

"Aw, you do a good job of describing yourself, you know that?" Angelina teased him.

He laughed. He couldn't remember laughing a real laugh in months. "I try my best."

She smiled, looking a bit more serious now. "I feel like I've missed out on everything now. I'm pushing thirty and everyone around me already has a family and seems to be nearing retirement."

"Yeah, well, I skipped that first step," said George, surprised by the sudden regret he felt. He felt something gnaw at him, some inexpressible despair, and a flash of pain erupted on his face before he could stop himself.

"You miss him," Angelina said softly.

"What?" George asked, blinking as if he did not know.

She only stared.

"Yeah," he admitted. "I really do."

Angelina put a hand on his shoulder. "Your mother told me you'd been . . . distant lately."

He looked up sharply. "You talked to my mother?"

"She's worried about you. Your whole family is, George, and I thought you should know." She searched him for a moment, her eyes wide and sad. "Why can't you be happy?"

"I am happy," George lied, and he felt all the more hideous for it.

"Then why are you cutting yourself off from everyone, working all the time? Can't you cut yourself some slack and live a little for once?"

"I work in a joke shop, it hardly counts as 'work'—"

"You know what I mean," Angelina interrupted him sternly. She had never been a girl to mess with, and George had loved that about her back in their days at Hogwarts. A part of him had always regretted that it was Fred she was after, but that had always been the way things were.

"Why . . . why do you care?" he asked. "You liked Fred."

She nodded. "I liked you both. You were my friends, and Fred and I happened to go out in school. I would like to come back from my trip and find at least one of my friends here still."

"I'm here," he protested.

Angelina smiled sadly. "Maybe."

They were silent for a moment. George realized that Angelina had not moved, but was only staring at him intently, as if ready to listen. This threw him off guard. Often people usually spent their time preaching him about the life he was wasting, about the happiness he was pushing away, but none of them had ever stopped to listen.

His voice cracked when he spoke. "I . . . I wasn't even there when he died. Percy was there, but I . . . I was off somewhere else. I didn't even feel it." He shuddered, unable to look at her. "He was my twin. He was a part of me. And when he died . . . I didn't even feel it."

Then he cried silently, letting the tears roll down his cheeks as he remembered that night in full force. How horrified he had been, seeing Percy and Bill and Fleur huddled around his twin's lifeless body, and how he had run up to them without breathing. He remembered Fred's eyes, still wide open; his mouth, still curved into a faint smile. Only Fred could die laughing. Only Fred . . .

"You can't leave. You're my twin," he'd told the corpse that night. "You're me . . ."

Nobody had heard him in their grief. Only then might they have understood, but they did not.

After awhile Angelina spoke again. "George, you couldn't feel it because you and Fred were not the same person. Surely you know that."

George nodded. "I know," he said shakily, humiliated for having cried in front of Angelina, especially having not seen her for years. He laughed through his tears and said, "Gee, Angelina, welcome home."

This earned a small smile on her account. "Thanks. It's good to be back." She rose from the chair she had been sitting on, making for the door. "I have to leave for work now, but I really want to see you again, George."

He could tell that she meant it, even if he didn't believe at first that it was true. "Yeah . . . yeah, I'd like to see you again, too."

When she had left, there was still a lopsided, tear-streaked smile on his face. Angelina really hadn't done anything, but in finally letting him cry, she had released some invisible chain that had been tugging at his heart. He still wasn't sure if he could be happy . . . but she had given him a chance, at least.

George sat a moment, letting the impact of the last few minutes settle in. Then his grin widened, and he shook his head, saying up to the heavens, "Your old girlfriend's quite the looker now, Freddy!"

Fred had hated it when someone called him that. George could almost hear his echo: "Yeah, maybe she stole all your karma, Georgina. That would explain your looks, wouldn't it, old man?"

And George laughed out loud. He laughed like a mad man, throwing his head back and clutching his gut. Screw work. Screw the quill deliveries. Someone else could deal with all of that crap today.

He took off his tailored work jacket and slipped into his favorite knitted wool sweater. Today he would visit Ginny, Harry, Teddy and James; today he would visit Ron, Hermione, and Rose; today he would visit his mother and father and talk to them for hours. Today he would come home.

Fini.