Disclaimer: Don't own Harry Potter. JK Rowling does. (and Ginny. Ha.)
A/N: I miss Fred, and I bet George would've too. So I wanted to have one last meeting between brothers.
Crying couldn't bring him back they told him when it first happened, and it was true. All the tears in the world couldn't breathe life into his dead brother. It sounded harsh, but it was true. His brother was dead and gone and not coming back. George Weasley lived and breathed this fact.
The shop was still open. Everyone told George it was what Fred would have wanted. They didn't know that the shop wasn't nearly as great, now that their chief inventor was gone and George had lost all the zing that had once made him such a laugh. He'd mellowed, and it seemed that he'd aged more than anyone since the Battle of Hogwarts.
Years had passed, and everyone had not forgotten Fred, but most had gone along with their lives. George hadn't, not really, and neither had Angelina Johnson it seemed. She and Fred had dated a bit in sixth year, but it ended badly and was made worse in seventh year when Angelina was Quidditch Captain and Fred had gotten kicked off the team (along with George and Harry) by that toad woman. It seemed to still be eating at Angelina that they'd never made up, and George supposed she'd started working at the shop to repay some of the debt she felt she still owed.
Yes, George and Angelina had grown close, spent many late nights doing inventory together, because of their grief. But not too close. Both obeyed the invisible, never spoken, boundaries they felt were respectful to Fred. George had often almost asked her to dinner, only to hear his brother's voice in his ear say, "You git! She was my girlfriend, you know that!"
On night, after this happened for the umpteenth time (he really should keep count), George went home to his empty flat and fell asleep in his work clothes on top of the covers. That night changed George Weasley's life. That night he spoke, for what was truly the final time, to his best friend and brother.
"Hey, Forge," he said, grinning. "Blimey, you've aged." Fred, however, looked twenty still (though he was surrounded in light). And very happy. George was so shocked, it was all he could do to choke out a 'Hello'.
It didn't really matter, though, because Fred plowed on. "Anyway, I don't have long. The shop-I started an After-Life branch. People here were happy, but they didn't laugh! Would you believe it? Now they do! As I was saying, I need to get back to the shop. It's been so busy!"
I heard we've a parcel of nieces and nephews? Bet they're a trip. Is Ickle Ronniekins a good father?" George nodded mutely and Fred laughed. "I expected." Fred checked his watch, the glow, a white light like a fluorescent bulb in a muggle office building only purer, moved with him.
"Ah. Must hurry. I need to tell you something."
"What?" George breathed.
"Go out with Angelina, Forge. You were meant, not her and I. It's the only way for both of you to live. So, as your brother, I am commanding you to go out with her." Fred grinned wider, it seemed, than his face should have allowed. "I found my soul-mate. Here, would you believe it? She's great. You'll meet her many, many years from now."
He waved his hand. "Now off you go, brother. Go. Get married. Make Quidditch-playing, joking babies. Name one for me, won't ya?"
George didn't have time to answer. A flash of light, then darkness. Fred was gone, but his message was lingering.
The next day, as soon as he saw Angelina, he invited her to dinner.
Fred was right, it was meant to be.
