Filling in the holes
Disclaimer: I am not JK Rowling and none of the characters or the setting belong to me. I do not claim any rights to them and I am not making any profit from the writing of this.
I must have written this over a moth ago, it's been sitting in my notebook waiting for me to type it up. I tested its tear-producing abilities by reading it out loud to some friends (well, I was actually getting them to help proof-read but you know…) and it really seemed to work. Even C, who hates soppy stuff admitted to feeling upset, which ironically made me feel happy : p
I think that little0bird's stuff partially inspired me to write this, she is such a great write, you should go and check out her stuff.
Also, various fics I've read about George after Fred's death, especially "Holey" by Dodger Gilmore have me ideas. Thanks : )
Okay, enough blathering for now, on with the story.
George lay on his bed, staring at the wall without really seeing it, his right hand clenched over his heart. It hurt; there was a real pain in his chest, a persistent ache that would not go away. He heard a knock on the door and sat up slightly.
"Come-" he cleared his throat, his voice rusty from disuse, "Come in." It was Percy. Percy, his face drawn and pale, his horn-rimmed glasses crooked and smudged. He came over to the bed and sat down. Neither of them said anything and the silence pressed against George's ear. Then Percy spoke.
"George," and that one word encompassed a thousand, as did the tears that George could see rolling down his face. He couldn't remember ever having seen Percy cry before. Then- he wasn't quite sure how it happened- he was clinging to his brother and for the first time since his Fred's death, he began to weep. Through the haze of tears he heard a keening noise- like an animal in pain – and it was only afterwards, when his throat felt serrated and raw, that he realised he had been the one making it. And Percy held him, and rocked him, until he was on the edge of sleep, and when he whispered, "Don't leave me," Percy stayed.
The Percy that George thought he knew disappeared over the next few weeks to be replaced with an elder brother. Looking back, George didn't know how he would have coped without him.
It was Percy who sat with him, and held him as he cried, it was Percy who understood when he wanted to be left alone, and stood guard outside the door, daring anyone to come near. It was Percy who laid out his clothes each morning and forced him to wash. It was Percy who coaxed him to eat, a mouthful at a time. It was Percy who volunteered his bedroom when George couldn't bear to sleep in his own any longer. It was Percy who helped him write his speech for Fred's funeral and went with him to see the grave for the first time. And yet Percy, who was so strong, was also the one who cried in the shower when he thought no-one could hear him. Percy was the one who tiptoed around the rest of the family like he was walking on eggshells. Percy was the one who sat outside alone on the coldest nights in his boxers and t-shirt, blissfully welcoming the numbing air. And George realised that he wasn't the only one who was hurting. He also realised that Fred would have told him he was being a prat, moping around, and he decided that he needed to take action.
He found Percy in the orchard, watching the others play quidditch, and for a moment George longed to join them, but then he remembered his mission and tapped his brother on the head. Percy looked up and George couldn't help but smile at his startled expression. The action felt strange, as though his muscles had almost forgotten how to do it. Percy noticed and smiled back, surprised. He took George's proffered hand and followed him out of the gate, down the lane and finally into Ottery St. Catchpole's expansive graveyard. They stopped in front of Fred's grave and the cold white marble that bore no resemblance to the bright redheaded boy who lay beneath it. George swallowed.
"Thank you." He turned suddenly and hugged Percy, who startled, hugged him back. He tried to put a lot of unsaid things into that hug and it seemed that Percy understood for he said,
"I know." At last, George let go and told Percy to shut his eyes. Percy looked bemused but did as he was told. George pointed his wand underneath the lettering that proclaimed the date of Fred's death and it felt as if another, identical hand guided his own. When Percy opened his eyes again he read what it said out loud, "Mischief Managed," and then he laughed, a deep booming laugh that filled the gloomy graveyard to the brim, rebounding on the countless gravestones. And George joined in, laughter bubbling in his stomach and out of his mouth, and as that laughter turned to sobs, and he leaned on Percy for support, he felt the hole in his heart start to heal, like the one on the side of his head. It would always be there but the pain would slightly and he would learn to live with it. Yes, George would always be holey, but one day he would also be whole.