A/N: I've not written since june 2005, when my father passed away, but apparently I've recently found my muse. Mostly I'm producing drabbles, like this one, but I've got one HP/SS that's on the way.
For this fanfic, please note that the fiction includes mature concepts and I do have a twisted mind. Unusually for me, this drabble is set post-DH, pre-epilogue.
When Fred Died
"Death ends a life, not a relationship."
- Robert Benchley
When Fred dies, George is beyond devastation. He looses himself, not just a part of himself, but all of his life, in that singular moment. Days and weeks pass by, as he does nothing but cry and sleep. Eventually, though, he runs out of tears and lies staring at the ceiling. It's orange, as his family has put him in Ron's room to not have to see the empty bed.
One night, he gets up and pads over to his own room, the one that used to be his and Fred's. Standing in the doorway, he looks at all the familiar things. There's the bed, a bunk bed with curtains both up and down, a desk strewn with ingredients, a chair that'll topple if one sits on it, because there's a dent in the floor from that Deflating Draught exploding. A scorch mark (or twenty) leave marks like stars on the ceiling. The bookshelf is full of their knick-knacks, so many they're spilling over, all dusty. It's been months before Fred's death since they were in here last, collecting one thing or another to bring back to the flat above the store.
He climbs to the top bunk, Fred's bed, and crawls in between the sheets. It's folded double and he remembers doing it to annoy Fred. Falling asleep, he snuggles into the pillow that still smells like his brother, pretending he's still fourteen and stealing the top bunk.
When six months have passed since Fred died, George is still alone. Their mother has lost a stone, Bill's face is full of scars and that year, Charlie doesn't come home for Christmas. There's a package beneath the tree that never gets opened on Christmas Day, but on Boxing day, George shows up in a marine sweater with a red F on it. There's a moment of silence, before Ginny turns into a rabbit and they all laugh, pretending there isn't a Fred-shaped hole in the family.
A year, to the day, after Fred dies, George reopens Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. Percy is right there with him, minding the till and restocking shelves. At night, George sleeps in his room above the store, sometimes laying for hours listening to Percy snoring in the other room and remembering how odd it was to have a wall separate him from Fred.
Everything in George's life appears to be about Fred, but then, it's always been about both of them. Fred and George. George and Fred. Gred and Forge.
When Halloween nears, the year after Fred died, George takes Fred's girlfriend out for a date. People around them find it odd and, in hushed voices, state that they thing George's gone a bit around the bend, if you know what I mean. But George finds himself liking Angelina, and Angelina doesn't mind that she's dating her dead boyfriends identical twin. She sees what everyone else refuses to see. She sees how hard George is pretending to be George, and not Gred.
That Christmas, a year and a half after Fred died, Arthur smiles, Bill's scars are mostly silver lines and Charlie comes home for Christmas. When George wears the sweater with an F on it, and Angelina wears the sweater with a G on it, no one blinks. (No one tells Molly that she doesn't need to knit the sweater any more, either.)
On April's Fools day, when they marry, everyone cheers and assumes that they found true love and solace in each other. On their wedding night, when Angelina takes the potion and turns into a perfect replica of George and guides George's mouth between her – his legs, George thinks they may be onto something.